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RECOLLECTIONS 

OF 

REAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. 

BY THE LATE 

JANE WAY LAND, 

• I 

AUTHOR OF 

"LITTLE SOPHY," "RECOLLECTIONS OF A BELOVED SISTER,' 
AND "DEPENDENCE." 

She " "being dead yet speaketh."^ — 
WITH 

AN INTRODUCTION, 

BY 

FRANCIS WAYLAND, 
» 

PRESIDENT OF BROWN UNIVERSITY 



NEW-YORK : 
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY, 

PHILADELPHIA ! 
GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST 
MDCCCXLVIIL 

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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, 

By D. Appleton & Company, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
New-York. 



TO THE REVEREND, 



THE PRESIDENT 0? BROWN UNIVERSITY, 

My Dearest Nephew, — 

It was at your suggestion that these " Recollections 
of Real Life " were committed to paper, and to you they 
are dedicated. You heard them, and others like them, 
spoken with a power and pathos, which those who re- 
member can never again expect to hear equalled. If 
the writer had cared less for the quiet discharge of her 
daily duties, this book might have been larger, but she 
u chose the better part," and we may be sure that she 
does not now regret it. They who knew her person- 
ally, and you were among the number, know that her 
brilliant conversation, though it might have been her 
greatest charm, was not her greatest excellence. It 
was her strong but simple faith, her loving spirit, the 
kind interest which she took in every thing about her, 
which will live in the hearts of her surviving friends, 
when the memory of that tongue, which " talked down 



6 



DEDICATION c 



hours to moments, 55 shall have long passed away. But 
t 

I am not writing for your eye alone, and I forbear. 
With the private feelings of your heart and mine, " a 
stranger intermeddleth not. 5 ' Let me only add, that I 
feel a real gratification in connecting my name with 
yours, though in a far-off land, and in a different hemi- 
sphere. 

Ever, my dearest nephew, 

Most affectionately yours, 

D. S. WAYLAND* 

Bassingham Rectory, ) 
Jfev/ark on Trent, England, V 
Februstry 20th, 1547, S 



CONTENT 



PAGE 

introduction, . 9 

Dr. Collins, .... * 39 

The Forest of Dean, . . . > . . .68 
Nurse Wilson, ....... 75 

Annie Bateman, . . . . » . . 92 

Fanny Bell, Ill 

Martha Stockdale, . . . , . .123 
The Village Library, , . . ♦ .133 
The Village Heroine 3 . . , % . • 136 



INTRODUCTION. 



The following pages contain a few sketches of 
real life in England. They portray incidents 
which illustrate the condition of the laboring 
classes in an agricultural district, and especially 
the relation which exists, in more favored instan- 
ces, between these classes and the parochial cler- 
gy in the Established Church. I hope that it will 
not be deemed obtrusive, if, in stating my con- 
nexion with this little volume, I present such 
reminiscences of the society to which it relates, 
as occur to me after several years' absence. It 
has seemed to me that a few brief notices of what 
I myself saw and observed, might render it more 
acceptable to an American reader. 

2 



10 



INTRODUCTION. 



During a brief visit to England in the winter 
of 1840 and '41, one of the first places to which 
I directed my footsteps, was Bassingham, the resi- 
dence of my paternal uncle, the Rev. Daniel 
S. Wayland, the husband of the authoress of 
the present volume. He had never before seen 
one of his brother's children, though the inter- 
course between the different branches of the 
house had been maintained, with occasional in- 
terruptions, through the greater part of a half 
century. Of the kindness with which I was re- 
ceived at the rectory ; of the happy hours which 
I spent there ; of the many discussions which 
took place, while we compared our varied expe- 
riences, in countries so remote, and amid institu- 
tions so dissimilar, I would willingly speak, 
were this the place for such a narrative. I must, 
however, forego this pleasure, as it would lead 
me too far from the object of this introductory no- 
tice, and confine myself to such remarks as will 



INTRODUCTION. 



ii 



tend to throw light upon the nature of the work 
itself. 

It was in the latter part of November, 1840, 
that I set out on my journey from Birmingham 
to Bassingham. Although much that I saw was 
neither new nor unexpected, yet there was enough 
that was peculiar, to remind me of the difference 
between this and the land of my birth. I believe 
that there had not been a day since my arrival 
in England, on which it had not rained. The 
fields were every where green, the crops of 
turnips were yet growing vigorously. Although 
the weather had been exceedingly raw and un- 
comfortable, so much so as to require warmer 
clothing than we should wear at home in mid- 
winter, there had not yet occurred a single frost. 
I well remember to have seen roses in bloom in 
front of a cottage in Bassingham, late in the 
month of December. 

I was ? however, particularly struck with the 



12 



INTRODUCTION. 



uniformly level appearance of this part of Great 
Britain. I had never seen any portion of the 
United States so destitute of any thing that could 
be called an undulation. The whole county of 
Lincoln seemed to me as flat as a prairie. The 
notions of the people seemed to be adjusted to 
this peculiarity of their scenery. I remember 
that on one occasion during my visit, a friend 
spoke to me of a house that stood upon a hill. 
I had frequently passed by the spot, but could 
not recall the locality to which he referred. I 
took pains to examine the house when I next 
happened to be in the vicinity, and perceived 
that the lawn in front really declined towards 
the road, but declined so gradually, that, until 
my attention was directed to the fact, I had not 
observed its variation from the universal level. 

It will at once be obvious that I was in the 
midst of an agricultural, and not a manufacturing 
population. There are no coal mines in the 



INTRODUCTION. 



13 



county, to which manufactures could be attract- 
ed. Water-power, of course, is out of the ques- 
tion, and grain is ground by the wind-mill. 
These Lincolnshire plains, since drainage has 
been introduced, are among the most productive 
lands in the kingdom. The laborers were 
said to be all in comfortable circumstances. 
The part of the county which I saw, seemed 
dotted with small agricultural villages, without 
having concentrated its population, to any con- 
siderable degree, into large or flourishing towns. 
The only exception to these remarks, is Lincoln, 
about eight miles from Bassingham. This old 
city, renowned formerly as the site of a Roman 
station, and retaining still an old Roman gate- 
way ; and yet more renowned at present for its 
noble Cathedral, the most perfect specimen of 
Gothic architecture that I have ever seen, stands 
upon a gentle elevation, and overlooks the sur- 
rounding country to a considerable distance. 



14 



INTRODUCTION. 



The natural results of this condition of things 
were obvious. The spirit of innovation, which is 
so powerfully at work in almost every part of 
the Anglo-Saxon dominions, seemed not yet to 
have disturbed this quiet agricultural district. 
The population consists of the small farmers who 
rent the land, and the laborers whom they em- 
ploy, a class of persons so far as I have observed 
by no means favorable to innovation. I was 
credibly informed that, out of the family of my 
uncle, but one, and that a weekly religious news- 
paper, was taken in the whole parish. There 
was no post-office in the village. Letters were 
sometimes left at a tavern, a few miles distant, 
at which the mail coach stopped to water its 
horses. When this direction had not been given, 
they were delivered at Newark on Trent, or at 
Lincoln. Since I left Bassingham, I learn, how- 
ever, that a change in these respects has come 
over it. A railroad now passes within a few 



INTRODUCTION. 



15 



miles of the village, and a post-office was opened 
there on the very day that witnessed the funeral 
of the author of the following sketches. 

Accustomed as I had been to the bustle, acti- 
vity, and progress which characterize the villages 
of the Northern States of the Union, there was 
something peculiar in the unalterable fixedness 
which seemed stamped on every thing that I look- 
ed upon. You might walk the streets, at almost 
any hour of the day, without meeting an individ- 
ual. The houses looked as though they might 
have endured for a century. The village church 
had stood unchanged for ages. It would seem 
that the building of a house was an event from 
which almost a new era would be dated in the 
history of the parish. Nor is this to be wonder- 
ed at. Building materials are exceedingly cost- 
ly. Timber is imported from Canada or Norway. 
Hence brick is used, wherever it is possible, in its 
place. With the exception of the church, which 



16 



INTRODUCTION. 



is of stone, every edifice in Bassingham is of 
brick. The fences which surround the door- 
yards are of brick, and I even saw pig-sties of 
the same material. The tiller of the land holds 
his property on lease, while the owner resides in 
a different part of the kingdom. So long as the 
landlord receives his rent punctually, he has no 
desire to invest capital in improvements. The 
farmer can rarely improve his condition so far 
as to purchase his homestead. Neither party 
have, therefore, any strong motive for change, 
and hence things remain as they are. The 
houses require occasionally to be thatched anew, 
while the walls continue unchanged from gene- 
ration to generation. 

It is owing I presume to the cost of timber, 
that live hedges are so much used in England in 
the place of fences. They are frequently spoken 
of as one of the most beautiful features of an 
English landscape. When well trimmed they 



INTRODUCTION. 



17 



are beautiful ; but it is not easy to keep them in 
good order. When old and neglected, they lose all 
the beauty of neatness ; they require much more 
room than one of our fences ; they are far less 
secure ; and they harbor weeds which it is al- 
most impossible to eradicate. The cost of rear- 
ing them is great, and they are liable to be de- 
stroyed by rabbits and hares. I may err from 
want of experience, but so long as timber with 
us remains abundant, I am of the opinion that 
the chestnut rail will furnish us with a better 
fence than the best hawthorn hedge in England. 

This indisposition to change, so much at vari- 
ance with the habits of this country, seems, in 
such a village as I have described, to meet a 
stranger at every turn. I remember that during 
my visit, I once entered a door-yard in Bassing- 
ham, and observed that the well was without a 
curb, a mere hole in the earth, walled up to the 
surface, out of which the water was drawn up 



• 



18 



INTRODUCTION. 



with a pole. Surprised at the danger to which 
children must be exposed, I inquired whether 
this mode of constructing wells was common. 
On being answered in the affirmative, I asked if 
children were not frequently drowned in the 
wells. I was informed that such accidents had 
happened, and it was said that two or three cases 
had occured within a few years. Here the con- 
versation dropped. It did not seem that accidents 
of this kind furnished any reason for deviating 
from the mode of constructing wells, which im- 
memorial usage had established. 

That instinctive looking forward to the future, 
which manifests itself every where among us, 
seemed not in any degree to have entered the 
thoughts of the people in this part of Lincolnshire. 
I presume that no one ever troubled himself 
with the anticipation of what Bassingham was, 
some day or other, to become. No speculation 
in house-lots, no mania for improvements had, I 



INTRODUCTION. 



19 



presume, ever deprived an inhabitant of a night's 
rest. With regard to education, I apprehend 
the same quiescence bore sway. There was a 
Sunday school connected with the village church. 
I presume that there were means for giving to 
the children the simplest rudiments of learning. 
But if there were any building set apart for the 
purposes of education, I was not so fortunate as 
to discover it. The union of all the inhabitants, 
so common among us, for the sake of giving to 
all the children of the village the means of as 
good education as their circumstances would 
allow, had, I presume, never been attempted. 
Indeed, I never heard of this form of social combi- 
nation in any part of Great Britain. I seemed to 
myself to observe, in this respect, a vast difference 
between that country and our own. Here, 
every one feels distinctly that he must take care 
of himself, and that he must originate and carry 
forward all those means which are needed for the 



20 



INTRODUCTION. 



improvement of himself and his fellow-citizens. 
There, the reverse is the case. The people ex- 
pect every improvement to originate with the 
government or the gentry. The theory of socie- 
ty leaves the care of the public good to the up- 
per classes of society ; but they seem either 
unable or unwilling to care for it. The govern- 
ment undertakes to do what, in the present state 
of society, is manifestly impossible; while by 
undertaking it, they have diminished, to a con- 
siderable degree, the individual self-reliance of 
the people. Hence, there seemed to me a vastly 
greater degree of dependence of the lower upon 
the upper classes of society, than I had been ac- 
customed to observe. The natural result follows : 
the gentry are much less dependent upon the 
mass of public opinion than with us. Whether 
of these is the preferable form of social organi- 
zation, I need not pretend to decide. I merely 
state the fact, as I observed it. 



INTRODUCTION. 21 

One other circumstance I will mention, while 
speaking of the rural population. It seem- 
ed to me, from what I heard, that the domestic 
relations did not stand upon the same footing as 
with us. The authority of the husband and 
father was much more absolute, and it was exer- 
cised with a degree of harshness which would 
not be tolerated here. Husbands, more common- 
ly than I had ever before known, seemed to be 
morose, unkind, and even brutal. Personal vio- 
lence, exercised upon the weaker party, appeared 
by no means uncommon, and it was borne with 
uncomplaining submission, that showed it to be 
by no means surprising or unexpected. Cases 
were mentioned of conduct in a husband, which 
here would have led to instant separation, which 
there was borne for years without a murmur, and 
without any attempt at interference on the part 
of the community. When, on the other hand, a 
husband never frequented the ale-house, but treat- 
3 



22 



INTRODUCTION. 



ed his family with considerate kindness, warm- 
er praise was awarded to him than we should 
have supposed such conduct deserved. Of the 
truth of this remark, several instances may be 
observed in the following sketches. 

Such seemed to me some of the aspects which 
this retired village presented. I may have ob- 
served it from a wrong point of view, in conse- 
quence of its dissimilarity to any thing that I 
had before seen. Contrasts, frequently, strike 
us forcibly, in proportion to their novelty. I 
think, however, that no New Englander would 
have spent a few weeks in the same society, 
without arriving at the same conclusions. 

If now we turn from the village and enter the 
rectory, we shall be surprised at the change 
which we behold. The clergyman is a graduate 
of Oxford, who has availed himself, successfully, 
of the advantages enjoyed at that ancient seat of 
classical learning. The reading of the poets 



INTRODUCTION. 



23 



and orators of Greece and Rome, is the amuse- 
ment of his leisure. Cicero, Demosthenes, Soph- 
ocles, and Pindar are his familiar acquaintances. 
French he reads as readily as his native tongue ; 
and with Italian he is sufficiently conversant for 
all the purposes of pleasure and study. Besides 
being, as his profession demands, a thorough- 
ly read theologian, he is an accomplished master 
of the English language ; accurately read in 
European history, and familiar with the chang- 
ing phases of opinion, on social and moral sub- 
jects, throughout the world. 

His wife was the daughter of a clergyman 
who had held a valuable living in the vicinity of 
London. Though his income was large, he had 
made no provision for the future, and dying sud- 
denly, in middle life, left a widow and three 
daughters entirely destitute. Of these daughters 
the author of the present work, was, I think, the 
eldest. She had enjoyed all the advantages of 



24 



INTRODUCTION. 



education common to young ladies in the position 
in society which she occupied, and, immediately, 
resolved to support herself by teaching as a pri- 
vate governess. From this time until her mar- 
riage with my uncle, she was occupied in this 
vocation. Her experiences, while in this situa- 
tion, she has published in a very interesting vol- 
ume, entitled " Dependence." Of deeply reli- 
gious character, indomitable energy, unwearied 
industry, and universal charity, as soon as she 
became the wife of a clergyman, she devoted 
her talents and acquisitions to the discharge of 
her peculiar duties. While she was the coun- 
sellor and friend of her husband's parishioners, 
she at the same time relieved him from all care 
of the affairs of the household. Nor was this all. 
She was, during their earlier years, the sole in- 
structress of her daughters. When they enter- 
ed upon the study of the classics, they came un- 
der the tuition of their father. With what 



INTRODUCTION. 



25 



success they pursued these studies, may be learn- 
ed from a single fact. One of them was, for 
several years, deprived of the use of her eyes ; 
but her education was not, on that account, sus- 
pended ; and her father informed me, that he 
was in the habit of reading to her the works of 
Cicero, in which she soon learned to follow him 
with entire facility. Thus educated, to an ex- 
tent of which we have but few examples in this 
country, these young ladies had been instructed 
entirely at home. With the exception of music, 
their knowledge had been derived exclusively 
from their parents. I trust that the minuteness 
of these details will be pardoned. I could not, 
in any other manner, set before others my con- 
ception of the parochial relation, as it exists in 
many parts of England. 

From what I have said of the condition of the 
parish, and of the family of the pastor, it will at 
once appear that the duties, responsibility, and 
3* 



26 



INTRODUCTION. 



position of a clergyman in England are quite 
dissimilar to any thing that exists among us. 
By virtue of his education and office, he belongs 
to the class of gentlemen, and the meaning of 
this term, in the old country, is definite and well 
understoood. His social position is widely re- 
moved from theirs, with the exception of those 
among them who occupy the same rank as him- 
self. In early childhood, he knew more than 
they have ever learned, and, from that time to 
the present, he has made rapid and uninterrupt- 
ed progress. While they are consigned to end- 
less daily toil, he might be raised to a Bishopric, 
and become a peer of the realm, without exciting 
any surprise. To his family the avenues to 
every form of professional eminence are open? 
while they are happy if they may hope to leave 
to their children a heritage no worse than their 
own. 

While a relation like this is liable to great 



INTRODUCTION. 



27 



abuses, it also furnishes the opportunity for con- 
ferring important benefits. I have said above, 
that there exists in the lower classes the feeling 
of dependence. This feeling, naturally, turns to- 
ward the clergyman, if he be worthy of his office. 
In all their troubles, they look up to him and 
his family, with a reverence and confidence, 
such as we never observe in this country. . He 
is the umpire in cases of difference. His aid 
is sought in all cases of difficulty. Every plan 
for the amelioration of the poor will pretty cer- 
tainly fail without his co-operation. In all the 
meetings of the gentry of the county, on public 
business, he is an important adviser. Nor is 
this relation limited to the clergyman himself. 
His wife, if she be a fellow-laborer, has duties 
to discharge of a similar and not less multifarious 
character. The women of the parish, in all 
their troubles, and they are neither few nor 
small, make their appeal directly to her. If 



28 



INTRODUCTION. 



their sufferings at home can no longer be borne in 
silence, they go to her for sympathy and advice. 
If their children are disobedient and unruly, 
they invoke the aid of her authority. When dy- 
ing they call her to their bedside, and implore 
her, as their nearest friend, to have an eye upon 
their orphans. In sickness they look to her for 
medicine, and they frequently receive from her, 
what they need far more than medicine, those 
little comforts which their scanty means cannot 
furnish, accompanied by those lessons of reli- 
gious instruction which are able to make them 
wise unto salvation. 

In these labors of love, the children of an Eng- 
lish clergyman such as I have described, are 
taught to bear a part. They all learn to employ 
themselves in some mode of philanthropy. 
While I was at B. I observed that each of the 
young ladies seemed to have her own appro- 
priate walk of usefulness, and each seemed to be 



INTRODUCTION. 



29 



responsible for the well-being of particular fami- 
lies. Hence hardly a day passed, during my 
visit, without bringing its report of some case of 
suffering, for which it was necessary to devise 
means of relief, or of some invalid, who, under 
the treatment of my young relatives, was recov- 
ering her health. These ministrations of mercy 
were never confided to servants, but were always 
performed in person, either by my aunt or by 
her daughters. Several instances illustrative of 
these remarks will be found in the following pages. 

While, however, the parochial relation in the 
old country is capable of producing such results 
as these, it is also capable of producing results 
widely different. A clergyman may neglect all 
his appropriate duties, and lead a life of irreligion, 
sensuality, and extreme worldliness ; and, if he 
only keep clear of ecclesiastical censure, he may 
set the opinions of his parish at defiance.* In 

* As in the case of Dr. Collins, the first of the following 
tales. 



30 



INTRODUCTION. 



such cases as this, the evil is enormous. The in- 
cumbent sacrifices the souls of the people com- 
mitted to his charge, and receives, frequently, 
a large revenue, as the wages of his ill-doing. 
There are still thoughtless, fox-hunting, wicked 
men, who minister at the altar of the Establish- 
ed Church in England ; the younger sons of 
powerful families, who enter the church merely 
to secure a genteel living ; and who, it would 
seem, have never bestowed a thought either 
upon the solemn obligations which they have as- 
sumed as clergymen, or the yet more solemn 
obligations which bind them to their Creator and 
their Judge. I rejoice in the belief, however, that 
the number of such ecclesiastics is rapidly dimin- 
ishing. There is, on the other hand, an increas- 
ing number of those who live among their parish- 
ioners very much on the terms which I have 
described. While visiting at B., I had the good 
fortune to make the acquaintance of some of the 



INTRODUCTION. 



31 



clergymen of the vicinity, who were all of this 
character. When their ladies met, I was sur- 
prised to observe the amount of labor which they 
seemed to be bestowing upon their parishes. 
Their conversation turned very much upon these 
subjects. As they were comparing the results 
of their different modes of benevolence, I was 
struck with the practical good sense, by which 
their plans were characterized. Their efforts 
seemed to be directed to the purpose of enabling 
the poor to take care of themselves, by encourag- 
ing them in habits of self-government, frugality 
and providence for the future. One lady, for in- 
stance, was a sort of savings' bank for her parish- 
ioners ; all who chose, brought to her their 
surplus earnings, and she kept them safely against 
the time of need. Another had united several 
in a little "Aid Society," of which she was 
the manager, each member contributing a small 
sum statedly, on condition that each should re- 



32 



INTRODUCTION. 



ceive a stipulated portion in case of sickness or 
misfortune.* Another had established a school 
for the children of her parish, and she related 
the various indications of prosperity or discourage- 
ment which she had observed since their last 
meeting. Indeed, I have never seen a company 
of persons whose whole lives seemed more cheer- 
fully devoted to the labors of Christian benevo- 
lence, than those whom I had the happiness to 
meet at the rectory of Bassingham. 

Nor let it be supposed that the persons who thus 
disinterestedly devote themselves to the labors of 
the Christian ministry, belong principally to the 
poorer class of the clergy. It is far otherwise. 
Many of them are gentlemen of fortune, and allied 
to the first families in the realm. The names of 
several were mentioned to me, who, having taken 
orders, had obtained parishes in the poorest and 
most destitute portions of the country, where, 

* As in the tale of Martha Stockdale. 



INTRODUCTION. 



83 



among those who most needed their aid, they 
might go about doing good. These gentlemen, 
who, while living upon their own income, and 
diffusing charities on every side with great liber- 
ality, were among the hardest working clergy in 
the land. 

But it is time for me to return to my narrative. 
It was amidst scenes such as I have attempted to 
describe, that the life of the authoress of the fol- 
lowing pages was spent. The incidents which 
had occurred within her personal knowledge, 
since she had been the wife of a clergyman, were 
frequently the topics of conversation, during my 
visit at the rectory. My aunt's powers of con- 
versation were such as it has not been my good 
fortune to see surpassed. Her tender sympathy 
for suffering, her strong love of justice, her lofty 
scorn of oppression, at once flashed in her eye, 
glowed in her cheek, and trembled in her utter- 
ance. Though remarkable for that self possses- 
4 



34 



INTRODUCTION. 



sion, so common to all well bred persons in Eng- 
land, the thrilling earnestness of her deeper tones, 
reminded me of what I had read of the conversa- 
tionsof Mrs. Siddons. I could not reconcile my- 
self to the thought that such experiences should 
be lost. I therefore repeatedly urged her to 
write out some of the incidents which she had 
witnessed, while the wife of a clergyman, and I 
requested the privilege of publishing them for her 
in this country, whenever it should be in har 
power to prepare them. 

Such is the origin of the following work. I 
saw the lamented authoress for the last time, in 
the spring of 1841. I frequently alluded to the 
subject, in the course of correspondence. After 
a few years, it was intimated to me, that some- 
thing of this kind was probably in preparation. 
My aunt's health, never robust, began soon after 
to fail. She however wrote, at such intervals as 
she could secure, amidst the pressure of numer- 



INTRODUCTION. 



35 



ous duties, and under the prostration of steadily 
advancing disease. At length, her labors were 
interrupted by a seizure manifestly paralytic, 
under which, with occasional remissions, she 
languished until December 22, 1846, when she 
quietly fell asleep in Jesus. She died in her 57th 
year. 

On the day before her death she remembered 
her promise, and directed that the manuscript 
should be sent to me. It is here presented to 
the public just as she left it ; without having re- 
ceived the advantage of her own supervision. 
Had her life been prolonged, it would have been 
much farther extended. I well remember some 
of the narratives which she intended to insert? 
but which are not found written here. As it is, 
I think it will present some glimpses of a state 
of society such as is neither seen among us, nor 
described by travellers in England. In all re- 
spects, it may be relied upon as perfect truth, 



38 



INTRODUCTION. 



The object of the author was simply to relate 
what she had herself known, in order to illustrate 
that Grace of God on which she rested all her 
hope. That it may in some measure accomplish 
this object, is my sincere and earnest prayer. 



F. WAYLAND. 



Brown University 
Aug, 13, 1847, 




tterolkrttona of tied Cife m (KnglaniJ, 



4* 



REAL 



RECOLLECTIONS 

or 

LIFE IN ENGLAND. 



DR. COLLINS. 

M I myself have seen the ungodly in great power ; and flourishing 
%ke a green bay-tree. I went by, and k>, he was gone : I sought him 
but his place could nowhere be found. — Psalm xxxvii. 36, 37. 

This passage of Scripture has been fully prov- 
ed, more than once, in my knowledge. I will set 
down all that I know of one very remarkable 
case in my native village. — Our fine church stands 
on a rising ground : in this county (Lincolnshire), 
it would be called a, hill. It stands at the en- 
trance of the village, a low wall separating the 
church-yard from the street. When I knew it, 



40 



BR. COLLINS » 



the road led on one side to the parsonage house ; 
and on the other, straight down what used to be 
called a lane, to a certain spot where a triangu- 
lar piece of grass was left, on which stood a lime- 
tree. Branching off from this grass-plat were 
roads leading to the neighboring towns. Opposite 
the tree was a house of red brick by which one of 
the roads passed, and from which it was separat- 
ed only by high walls, hiding entirely the court- 
yard and the bow-windows of the dining-room at 
one end, while the front of the house, which con- 
sisted of an entrance-hall, &c*, was open to the 
gaze of the passers-by. The wall had been so 
built as at the top to consist partly of paling or 
palisades. In the middle was a gate of the same 
kind and height, which led up to the front door 
on flag-stones. 

It was one of the best houses, in the coun- 
try, but it was old, and must have been built at 
a time when our gentry did not object to a close 
view of their plebeian brethren. It would have 
been so easy to place it farther back in the 
grounds belonging to the proprietor ; but there it 
stood, alone in its grandeur ; and I am sure I 



DR. COLLINS. 



41 



remember the time when I thought there could 
be nothing finer in the whole world ; and I used 
to peep through the palings, and long for the gay- 
flowers which grew there. Our nurse-maid 
never wanted to be kept there, for the heath was 
all before us where the soldiers came to exercise, 
and she liked better to see them, than to look at 
the fine place which stood just at one corner. 
The two roads leading from the lane crossed over 
an open heath, which is now enclosed. 

I should think the plantation belonging to 
this house still remains. It led from the court- 
yard along one of the roads, and was enclosed by 
paling and protected by a deep ditch, so that it 
was quite impossible for any eye to penetrate 
into this deep shade. I remember how many 
fancies I had about what was therein kept so 
carefully guarded from all but the privileged. — 
There came a time when the gates were thrown 
open, and the profane vulgar might enter and ex- 
plore all the hidden mysteries. About half was 
devoted to kitchen produce. There was a broad 
grass walk in the middle, with flower-beds on 
each side, and espalier-trees just beyond, forming 



42 



DR. COLLINS. 



a screen for the peas and potatoes. This led up 
to a temple, and all beyond was plantation. A 
walk ran through it to the end of the grounds, 
and was terminated by an open space, which 
commanded a view of the whole heath. The 
sudden transition from the gloom of the wood to 
the soft moss of that pretty little walk was very 
delightful. Then, if you wished to ramble far- 
ther, you had but to open a very small rustic 
gate on the right hand, which led you to a wind- 
ing path round the paddock. This was so man- 
aged as to seem a very considerable distance, 
but in reality, it only wound round the pastures. 
The walk led you to a light, pleasant summer- 
house. Farther on, was a thick grove of dark 
firs and other gloomy trees, which shaded a dis- 
mal hermitage, from which you were glad to 
turn back to the cheerful summer-house. 

I should like to know if any vestige of this re- 
mains. My business, however, is with the mas- 
ter of this property, whose tasteful hand formed, 
and delighted in, this fair erection. He was very 
rarely seen. At the time I am thinking of, 
when I was a very little girl, but, as the eldest, 



DR. COLLINS. 



43 



more at liberty than the others, I have lingered 
about the gates, I may say for hours, without 
seeing any one of the family. If the master had 
ever come forth, I think I should have taken to 
my heels, and been as much afraid to look, as if 
he had been the personification of all evil. 

He was not brought up on the soil. He 
had played the game of life well. He had ac- 
quired all that he possessed, all that he had 
dared to hope for, and he might look around and 
say — " Behold now this great Babylon which I 
have made." No one knew from whence he came 
or to whom he belonged. The old people told 
you that he first appeared as Curate, or it might 
be Vicar, of Hinton, a small village close by. He 
wore a shabby coat ; and strange stories were 
told of the scantiness of his wardrobe. He seems 
to have been very quiet for a time. He looked 
about him warily, and formed his plans. The 
old coat was laid aside and he appeared well and 
fashionably dressed. His fine and indeed ele- 
gant person was set off to the best advantage. 
His address was soft and insinuating, and the 
poor simple people about him were quite captivat- 
ed with the strange gentleman. 



44 



PR. COLLINS. 



He very soon prevailed on a lady, whose 
health was fast declining, to accept his hand and 
settle all her fortune upon him. This was his 
first move ; but the lady lived on. He had mis- 
taken the nature of her disorder ; and he was 
not so far master of himself, as to conceal his 
vexation, and his impatience for her death. 
There were some who saw through his schemes, 
even at this early stage. At last the small-pox 
befriended him in the matter ; the lady died : 
but her riches were left to console her husband, 
— This was long before I was born ; and I do not 
even know the name of this lady ; nor do I 
know the time when Mr. Collins took his doctor's 
degree. He was Dr. Collins as long as I can 
remember. 

As soon as possible after the death of his firsl 
wife, he called upon an old bachelor gentleman? 
whose sister kept his house, and, after some kind 
of preface, informed him that he was in love with 
his sister ! I have often heard my father tell the 
story as he had it from the mouth of Mr. Rich- 
ardson himself. Mr. R. looked him full in the 
face for some time, without speaking, and then 



DR. COLLINS. 



45 



burst into a fit of laughter. The doctor preserv- 
ed his gravity, " Could not imagine what there 
was to laugh at, &c, &c." — " Why, as to your 
being in love with my sister, man, it is quite im- 
possible. She would not believe it herself. Why, 
she is as ugly as sin, and as crooked as a ram's 
horn. To be sure she is a woman, and, in my 
opinion, a very foolish one, and I can't say what 
she might be persuaded to, but I shall do my du- 
ty by her, and therefore, sir, I desire you to 
leave my house, and never shall you cross the 
threshold again with my consent." 

The doctor endeavored to obtain a mitigation* 
of the sentence, but in vain. He had, however, 
much less trouble with the lady. She was, as 
her brother had said with more truth than ten- 
derness, very silly ; and she was easily prevailed 
upon to bestow herself and her fortune upon her 
handsome suitor. He was not blind to the de- 
formity of her person, for I remember he al- 
ways called her " crab." — He was by no means 
satisfied with the fortune his wife had brought 
him, and determined, if possible, to have the bro- 
ther's too, and he succeeded. He never obtained: 
5 



46 



DR. COLLINS. 



access to the house until Mr. Richardson was 
struck with some kind of fit, in which he lay for 
some days nearly speechless. In this helpless 
state, Dr. Collins found no difficulty in forcing 
his way to his chamber, where he played his 
part so well, that the dying man ceased to show 
any repugnance to his presence. The last day 
he took his place by the bed-side, and from time 
to time pretended to hear him say something, 
though no one else could. At last he put his 
ear down close to him, and said, " I understand, 
my dear sir, what you mean — don't exert yourself 
so much — you wish to sign the paper — you shall 
— I will support you. Another pillow, nurse — 
Mr. Richardson wants support." — He then put 
the pen into the dead man's hands, and signed his 
name to a deed, which gave him all that he pos- 
sessed. 

Of course such a will as this might easily 
have been set aside, for the nurse was ready to 
take her oath that her master was dead when the 
doctor guided his hand to sign his name ; but 
the natural heir was the elder brother, a man in 
declining health, and moreover suffering at the 



DR. COLLINS. 



47 



time under a fit of the gout. He was very indig- 
nant at first ; but he ended by saying, " Well, 
let him take it — he is a villain, but he has children 
— I have none — I have enough to satisfy me — I 
never wanted my poor brother's land — but never 
let me see or hear of that man again." And 
he never did ; but my impression is, that, by 
some means or other, this gentle brother's proper- 
ty came to Dr. Collins in right of his wife. Of 
this, however, I am not certain ; I only know 
that from this time he lived in great splendour. 
The house was not large enough for the grand 
parties that he gave ; and he added a fine lofty 
room to one side, nearly as large as the original 
building. This room was called by some the 
Apollo, but I think the doctor called it by the true 
name, the saloon. He was not on terms with 
any one of his near neighbors, but the court- 
yard was too often filled with carriages from a 
distance. 

He lived, as was proved afterwards, very 
much beyond his income, but his head seemed to 
be quite turned. All things appeared to turn out 
exactly as he wished : and his haughty carriage to 



48 



DR. COLLINS. 



the poor, and to all around him, was beyond belief. 
He was a magistrate, and when a case came be- 
fore him, he would throw up one sash of the bow- 
window that looked into the court-yard, and pro- 
nounce judgment to the audience without. — I 
remember seeing a poor old man stand before 
the window with his hat in his hand, vainly try- 
ing to shade his thin white hairs from the wind. 

I have said that all things went on fair and 
smoothly with this proud man. His wife had 
brought him a son and a daughter. The son was 
all that a father ought to have wished for ; but, 
as far as one can judge from tradition, he must 
have inherited the gentle spirit of his elder uncle ; 
and this did not please the high proud spirit of 
Dr. Collins. His son was never a favorite ; and 
though his conduct was irreproachable, it has been 
said that he was treated at times with cruel vio- 
lence. I never heard this from any good author- 
ity ; neither do I know at what time, or from 
what immediate cause, his fits of epilepsy began . 
The first that was known of, and it might be the 
very first, was seen by my father. He saw 
Dr. Collins standing alone in a field, within sight 



BR. COLLINS. 



49 



of the house where that great wickedness respect- 
ing the will had been perpetrated. My father 
was not on speaking terms with the doctor, for 
there was never any point of sympathy between 
them. My father was, in the fullest sense of the 
word, an honest man ; and he had besides the 
kindest, gentlest heart that ever dwelt in a hu- 
man frame. What concord could there be be- 
tween two such men ? On this occasion, however, 
my father, after observing him for some time? 
crossed the road and said, " You want something, 
Dr. Collins ; can I help you V The doctor 
pointed to his son, who lay senseless on the ground. 
Of course he was removed to the house, and 
medical assistance called in. His intellects 
were found to be seriously affected, but he was 
kept at home ; and the extreme folly of his mo- 
ther in the management of the poor fellow was 
enough to drive the medical attendants and the 
nurse out of their senses. 

One proof of his naturally mild spirit I may 
give. A servant, who afterwards lived with us, 
was appointed to sit in an adjoining room, and 
watch while he slept, and the rest of the family 
5* 



50 



DR. COLLINS* 



were gone to dinner. All was still for some- 
time, and she sat intent upon her sewing. At 
length there was a slight noise : she lifted up 
her eyes, and he stood before her. She was so 
terrified that she could not move, but she must 
have looked unutterable things, for he shook his 
head and said — " Poor thing, don't be frightened 
— I would not hurt you for the world" — and 
quietly returned to his room. But little more is 
known of him. His mind was entirely gone? 
and he was soon taken to a lunatic asylum., 
Here his health was restored, but he was pro- 
nounced an incurable maniac. Every vestige 
of him was then swept away. His name was 
forbidden to be mentioned, and he was as if he 
had never been. 

The wretched mother must have felt this dread- 
ful blow, but the father had never loved his son. 
His whole heart had been given up to his daugh- 
ter ; and to her, it must be owned, he had always 
been a most fond, indulgent parent. She was a 
most beautiful creature, inheriting all, and more 
than ail, her father's graceful person, and also- 
his fascination of manner. I could point out the 



DR. COLLINS. 



51 



very spot where I saw her, the pond in the 
meadow where the stream used to overflow the 
road. She was one of a fishing party there, dress- 
ed in green velvet and white, her hat ornamented 
with a green and white feather. I was a very 
little girl, but I shall never forget her beauty. 
She looked like a being of another world. She 
certainly was not made in the mould of common 
mortals. I remember telling my father of this 
meeting, and saying, that I thought she was as 
beautiful as the angels. " Yes, but the fallen 
angels." This he said at the time, and he often 
repeated it in her after course of life. She was, 
at the time I am speaking of, a married woman, 
and I am forestalling my tale. 

Poor thing ! I have often thought, if her pa- 
rents had been different, she might have turned 
out better, for she had excellent sense. But, 
setting aside the want of principle in the father, 
her mother was the last person to bring up a 
young girl in the ways of virtue and modesty, or 
even of common propriety. She was never to 
be taught the use of her needle ! That was a 
vulgarity, the poor mother taught her, which she 



52 



DR. COLLINS. 



was too rich and too handsome ever to trouble 
herself about ! But the many traditions of her 
way of bringing up her daughter may be passed 
over. It is only a record of folly. The result 
is all that I have to relate. 

It might be supposed that so beautiful a crea- 
ture as Miss Collins would have many lovers. 
She had but to appear, and all hearts were bow- 
ed before her. How many descriptions of her 
lovely, graceful person, and her winning sweet- 
ness of manner, crowd upon me ! But it is only 
necessary to speak of one of her boyish loves, who 
was a school-fellow of her brother's. I think he 
was distantly related to Mrs. Collins, but, be that as 
it may, he was accustomed to make a home of 
their house, and, as might have been anticipated, 
a most violent attachment was the consequence. 
On his part it was most true and tender, but not 
on hers. Perhaps there was not material enough 
in her nature for stability ; but there was suffi- 
cient to make a great show, and dazzle all 
around. As usual, the parish took part with 
the young lovers, for in the house and in the 
grounds they were not permitted to walk or be 



DR. COLLINS. 



53 



seen to speak together, so that " the secrets of the 
prison-house" were laid open to the neighbors, 
and there was not one who would not have helped 
their meeting, or screened poor Dick Carter 
from the fury of the angry mother. I have 
seen the closet in which he was locked up a 
considerable time, while Mrs. Collins, who sus- 
pected his presence, was searching in every 
place to find him. He had unluckily left his 
hat behind him, which the old lady seized, and 
asked for the owner, but the good woman of the 
house would not betray his hiding-place. 

As far as I ever heard, the doctor took no part 
in these petty squabbles, but I rather think he 
was taking a more decided step, for young Car- 
ter was soon appointed to some post in India, 
which was to occasion his absence for some years. 
It proved the road to fortune. He was full of 
love and hope, and if his lady-love would have 
pledged him her faith, and engaged to wait the 
result of his voyage, he would have exulted in 
his good fortune : but she knew herself better ; 
and I think it may be told to her credit that she 
could never be prevailed upon to say that she 



54 



DR. COLLINS. 



would wait for him. She would freely own that 
she loved him better than any thing else in the 
whole world, but she would make no promises. 
I do not know how much, or how long, she 
mourned for him ; nor do I know how soon after 
his departure Major Irwin appeared as her ac- 
cepted lover. He had very much the advantage 
of young Carter, as far as personal appearance 
went. At the time I am thinking of, he was a re- 
markably handsome man, inclined to be tall, and 
extremely graceful and well made. This I re- 
port from hearsay evidence. I was myself too 
young to judge • though I perfectly remember a 
kind gentleman in black, who took great interest 
in my doll's cradle quilt, and helped me to choose 
and fix the patches. 

This same Major Irwin has since distinguished 
himself by many useful and benevolent discover- 
ies. How many thousands must have had rea- 
son to bless his name ! It was the disappoint- 
ment which he met with in his married life, that 
led him to settle where he did, and devote his 
life to the service of his fellow-creatures. — His 
offer to Miss Collins was entirely approved of by 



DR. COLLINS. 



55 



her parents, for, though the lovers of the young 
lady had been many, I rather suspect her offers 
had been few. The conduct of Dr. Collins had 
not been such as to make an alliance with the 
family very desirable. There was a great deal 
of festivity upon the occasion. I mean previous 
to the marriage. I remember being admitted 
with one of our servants and a crowd of lookers- 
on, into the hail, to stand upon the stair-case 
while the band were brought in to play any tunes 
that might be chosen. Mrs. Collins was mixing 
in the throng in high spirits, and with great good 
nature stopped and asked me what I should like, 
and immediately ordered, " O dear ! what can the 
matter be V — About this time, a neighbor, who 
was taking a drive with Miss Collins on the heath 
where ner lover was with the soldiers, said to her 
—"I suppose you have quite forgotten poor 
Dick Carter." — She answered quickly — " No, 
1 have not, I love him as well as ever ; but 
what's the use of thinking of him 1 He will never 
come back." — It was thought that her wily father 
had given her this idea. 

Miss Collins was soon after married. The 



58 



DR. COLLINS. 



courtship had been short, and no one expected 
the marriage to be so near at hand. She was 
married in our parish church. I remember of- 
ten hearing my father tell, how he was going 
one morning clown the street towards the church, 
when the bells suddenly struck up, and he saw 
the clerk coming out of the church, and heard, in 
answer to his inquiries, that Dr. Collins had 
sent for him, desired him to fetch the keys, and 
had then himself married his daughter to Major 
Irwin ! My father was the only gentleman in 
the neighborhood who was at that time on speak- 
ing terms with Dr. Collins, but I think after this 
liberty taken with his church, for which neither 
reason nor apology was ever offered, our family 
was in the same band of personnages muets, 
whenever the doctor came in our way. 

Hitherto the career of Dr. Collins had been 
one of perfect success ; and one might almost 
have fancied that the evil one had entered into 
a compact with him, and was fulfilling it — " All 
these things will I give thee." But the time 
was near when the hand of God would be heavy 
upon him. I do not know how soon it was made 



DR. COLLINS. 



57 



public, but it was soon known, that the young 
bride liked her father's home better than her 
own. This often happens, and it might have 
passed away in time. I cannot say how long 
this state of things lasted. I know she accom- 
panied her husband to Ireland during the rebel- 
lion, and I think it was in the year 1798. Soon 
after she returned with him to her father's 
house, where it may be supposed she was on a 
visit. It does not appear that at this time there 
was any visible estrangement between Major 
and Mrs. Irwin. It was natural that she should 
like the house of a most indulgent father, and in 
time she might learn to like her husband's home. 

Such was the state of things when her first 
love returned from India. He had been abun- 
dantly successful in his profession. His promo- 
tion had been rapid. He had been raised to the 
rank of Lieutenant-General, and was now return- 
ed to offer himself to her acceptance. Her 
father's vexation was equal to her own, but he 
was' too wise to show it. There were some 
friends and well-wishers to both parties who 
strongly opposed General Carter's visit. They 
6 



53 



DR. COLLINS. 



did not fear to tell him that it would be far bet- 
ter if he never saw Mrs. Irwin again. He was 
furious at the news of her marriage ; and what 
he then said was remembered long after — "If 
she is on earth I'll see her and he confirmed 
it with a profane oath. 

The morals of General Carter had not been 
improved by a residence in another climate. He 
was well received at the house of Dr. Collins. 
I know none of the particulars of what took place 
in the house, but it was said that the lady fully 
justified her faithless conduct, and framed a tale 
which convinced him that she had been the vic- 
tim of imposition. Not perhaps daring to accuse 
her father, she named others who were not so 
likely to contradict her. She is reported to have 
pointed out my honored father as one who had 
lent himself to practice upon her credulity. I 
know he wondered very much that General 
Carter, who before his going abroad had been in 
habits of confidential intimacy with him, should 
now avoid him so carefully. 

We generally believe what we wish may be 
true ; and certainly the conduct of General 



DR. COLLINS. 



59 



Carter and Mrs. Irwin proved that he had lent 
a willing ear to her tales, and entirely be- 
lieved in her devoted affection. They soon 
showed to all the world that they cared only for 
each other. The father either did not, or would 
not, see what all others saw. The unhappy 
husband remonstrated in vain. She lost no op- 
portunity of showing her contempt, and even 
dislike, of the man she had vowed to love and 
honor. I have often thought of her cruel mock- 
ings. The man, whose name will go down to 
posterity with so much of honorable distinction, 
was made a laughing-stock in the family. 
There were several of the Irwin family staying 
in the house, and very wicked and worthless 
they all turned out, It was an old name in the 
county, but, as far as I know, there is not one 
left. They used to call Major Irwin the knight 
of the sorrowful countenance ; but, indulgent as 
he was, I believe he did not prove so tame as 
she expected, for she found it, soon after this, ex- 
pedient to elope with General Carter from her 
father's house. How long she remained with 
him I do not know, but when his duties called 



60 



DR. COLLINS. 



him back to India, she prepared to accompany 
him, and every arrangement was made for her 
passage ; but to the honor of the East India 
Company it should be told, that, having discover- 
ed the nature of Mrs. Irwin's connection with 
General Carter, they most unexpectedly inter- 
fered to prevent her going out. They were in- 
flexible in their determination, and he was com- 
pelled to leave her behind him. She then came 
back to her father. 

I well remember seeing the chaise, which 
brought her from the neighboring town, cross 
the heath and stop at the end of the plantation. 
There was an immense high white gate with 
spikes at the top over which she clambered, and 
ran down the walk to the house. After a cer- 
tain time she returned by the same way, climbed 
the gate again, and went back to the town. 
What she did or said I never heard, but she was 
soon established at her father's table ; and he 
was, I think, trying to effect a reconciliation be- 
tween her and her husband when his last dread 
summons came. Dr. Collins had been observed 
to droop for some time. He was not a very old 



DR. COLLINS. 



61 



man, but he began to look a very miserable one. 
Some said he had lived very much above his in- 
come. I suppose he had, for on one occasion, 
when one of the large white gates, by which it 
had been his pleasure to mark his entrance to 
the fields about him, was in need of repair, he 
said in reply to a person who spoke of a new 
one, "Sir, I cannot afford a new gate." He 
had never before made such an avowal. He had 
always acted and talked as if his riches were in- 
exhaustible. But certainly a new era in his 
life had commenced. He had attained every 
thing that he desired ; and what was it all 
worth 1 " What shall it profit a man, if he gain 
the whole world, and lose his own soul ?" He 
stood alone at the end of his term, without friends, 
disgraced and humbled in his nearest connections. 
Even where he had treasured up his heart, the 
hand of God was heavy upon him. Every thing 
that he had gained seemed to fade away, or 
wither in his hand. 

I have said he was not on terms with any ot 
his neighbors, nor do I think he had any where 
one confidential friend, so that none could tell 
6* 



62 



DR. COLLINS. 



how or what he felt ; but he was known to walk 
very much alone in the gloomy fir grove at the 
end of the garden. There was a very dark 
shady kind of temple there, which only looked 
into the dark recesses of the grove. I wonder if 
it is there now. When I was last in the neigh- 
borhood, the garden railing was gone, but the 
garden and the trees were left. They were 
only neglected. Perhaps, in the enclosure of the 
heath, this cherished spot, which was so care- 
fully kept from the rude eyes of the vulgar, has 
been thrown open, the trees cut down, and thus 
every vestige of the garden, as well as of the house, 
been swept away. — But, to return to my story : 
I have said that Dr. Collins looked ill, but no- 
thing was known as to the state of his health. No 
medical man was consulted, and he continued 
his Sunday's duty at Hinton Church as usual. 
He had to pass through our village to this place, 
and I remember seeing his servant drive his po- 
ney carriage at a foot's pace home from church. 
It must have been in the summer, because we 
were in the garden, in the walk which led to my 
father's willow-tree. It was soon known that 



DR. COLLINS. 



63 



Dr. Collins had been taken ill in the reading- 
desk • and in the course of the next day, or the 
day after, he died. What he said or felt no one 
ever heard. It was reported that he had his 
senses perfect ; but what were " the thoughts of 
the passing soul" we were all left to conjecture. 
I am afraid " he died and made no sign." My 
father buried him under the middle window, on 
the north side of the church, in the church-yard. 
That place was the chosen spot. 

My father was called on by Mrs. Irwin at the 
reading of the will, and consulted on various 
other matters, and I have often heard him speak 
of her great powers of fascination. The presence 
of Major Irwin was found to be necessary, and 
she thought it expedient to play the part of the 
penitent. A sort of hollow reconciliation took 
place, but it was far from her wish to be fettered 
by the presence of a husband. She tried various 
means to get rid of him, but he still remained a 
clog upon her heels. At last she refused the pay- 
ment of a certain debt contracted at the county- 
town, during her several elopements from her 
husband. It was said to be of a large amount ; 



64 DR. COLLINS. 

and she so managed to cajole the creditor that he 
lent himself to her devices, and she promised to 
put her husband into his hands if he would send 
persons to arrest him. She had calculated that 
by this means she should get him out of the way 
for a considerable time ; for she well knew no 
money could be raised until the whole of her 
father's property was sold. It happened that 
Major Irwin was working in the garden when 
the writ was served. As he rested on his spade, 
he saw two rough-looking men in company with 
his wife in the court-yard. He understood enough 
of their gestures to see that Mrs. Irwin was point- 
ing him out to them, and stood waiting their ap- 
proach. As soon as he comprehended their busi- 
ness, he refused to acknowledge as a just debt 
what had been contracted by his wife and her 
paramour ; and by some means or other escaped 
from their hands. He jumped over the railing, 
ran across the heath and the fields, and took re- 
fuge in our house. He was young and active, 
and had soon distanced his pursuers, but he lock- 
ed the hall-door as he came in, pulled down the 
windows in the drawing-room, and locked the 



DR. COLLINS. 



65 



door of that room also. We were all at dinner, 
and when my father knocked, it was some time 
before he could gain admittance. My father was 
one of the many who had been deceived by the 
outward show of penitence which Mrs. Irwin had 
assumed, and he had tried to make the best of 
her conduct to her husband. He had even per- 
suaded him to take her home, forgive the past, 
and hope for the future. After this, he gave her 
up. The Major remained at our house till the 
next morning ; or rather he was conveyed in the 
night to the other side of the river, which sepa- 
rated the two counties, where the warrant was 
not available, and this was the last that was seen 
of him in our neighborhood. 

Mrs. Irwin and her mother soon after took a 
house or lodgings in London, where, or of what 
kind, I do not know, but it was not thought very 
reputable to visit them. I never knew when, 
or how, Mrs. Collins died, but it is well known 
that Mrs. Irwin accepted the protection of Cox, 
the celebrated barrister, who had been a school- 
fellow of hex brother's, and a visitor at her fa- 
ther's house. During her residence under his roof 



66 



DR. COLLINS. 



she bore him two daughters. Her power lasted 
for many years, but at length her beauty began 
to fade, and " another and a fairer came." She 
saw but too plainly that the heart of her protector 
was given to the lovely but infamous Mrs. Cuth- 
bert. She withdrew, or was sent away, from his 
house, and her children were taken from her. I 
heard of her visiting her native county, and of 
her being asked to use her influence with Mr. 
Cox in behalf of somebody or other ; but she an- 
swered with bitterness, that the day of her power 
was at an end. " There was a time," she said, 
" but, oh ! I dare not look back. It is all gone. 
I am a poor unhappy woman." She lingered on 
for some years, neglected and forsaken by all. 
In her last hours, she earnestly desired to see her 
two children, but their father positively refused 
to let them go. No doubt she felt the cruelty of 
this behavior, but she persevered in her request, 
and she was seconded by her medical attendants, 
who took upon themselves to urge this her last 
desire. They assured Mr. Cox that she could 
not die in peace unless he yielded, and at last he 
did. His daughters were sent, but their unhappy 



DR. COLLINS. 



67 



mother had been for some time speechless. Still 
she knew them. The lamp of life was just flicker- 
ing in the socket, but she raised herself in thebed ? 
looked at them, smiled, held up her clasped hands 
to heaven, fell back on her pillow, and died. I 
think her body was, by her own desire, brought 
down to her native village, and buried beside her 
father. 

The property was purchased by their opposite, 
or nearly opposite neighbor, who did not " leave 
one stone upon another " of the house which had 
witnessed so much folly and guilt* 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



" They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament ; 
and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars forever and ever." 
—Daniel xii. 3. 

It is, I believe, pretty generally known, that the 
first attempt to instruct the then wild and savage 
inhabitants of the forest of Dean, in Gloucester- 
shire, was made by a clergyman of the Church 
of England. The name of this clergyman, who 
held the living of Newland, on the borders of the 
forest, was Procter. I have heard him more than 
once relate the manner in which his attention was 
first called to this benighted district, which seem- 
ed to have escaped the notice, or to have resisted 
the efforts, of those who might otherwise have 
broken in upon its darkness. At the time when 
the circumstance occurred, which I am about to 
relate, there was no church or chapel of any kind 
in the forest, nor any means of religious instruc- 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



69 



tion whatever. The inhabitants of the forest had 
no right to attend any place of worship on its bor- 
ders, They knew themselves to be a lawless 
and despised people ; and the pride, which was 
engendered by neglect, kept them aloof from their 
neighbors, and shut out the usual means of im- 
provement. Very little was known of them ex- 
cept that they were a set of common plunderers? 
avoided by all the surrounding people, whose lives 
as well as their property were endangered by 
them, for not a few had been murdered in the 
forest. I remember visiting a poor widow, whose 
husband, some years before, had been lost there. 
He ventured to cross a part of it at night, and he 
was never heard of afterwards. His hat and 
neckcloth were found, but no traces of the body 
were ever discovered. 

Such was the state of the forest about the time 
I am now describing. It must have been about 
the year 1808, when Mr. Procter, who had lately 
taken the living of Newland, was told one eve- 
ning that a man of the name of Thomas Morgan, 
out of the forest, wished to speak to him. Mr. 
Procter had prepared himself for some claim on 
7 



70 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



his charity, but was agreeably surprised when 
the man addressed him in the following words : 
" Sir, I am a poor forester, and perhaps you will 
not think it worth your while to attend to me. I 
am Rot one of your parish, so I have no right to 
intrude myself upon you ; but I was at your 
Ghurch last Sunday, and I have been disturbed 
in my mind ever since. I can get no rest in my 
mind, either night or day, and I was therefore deter- 
mined to come and try if you would think it worth 
your while to explain yourself to me." He soon 
found that he had come to one who was " no re- 
specter of persons,' 5 but who accounted it his high- 
est privilege to heal the " broken and contrite 
heart," and whose zeal in his Master's service 
might be safely held up for imitation to all his 
brethren. 

Thomas Morgan then proceeded to tell him that 
the change of heart, which he had spoken of in 
his sermon as necessary to salvation, was a doc- 
trine he had never heard before. In fact, it ap- 
peared so strange to him, that he had once or 
twice made quite sure that he had mistaken the 
preacher's meaning. He had endeavored to shake 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



it off, and go about his work as usual, but it would 
not do. The more he tried to get away, the more 
it fastened upon him ; till it led him at last to 
break through all the reserve of his disposition, 
(to which was added a large portion of the sullen 
pride at that time peculiar to this neglected peo- 
ple.) and force his way into Mr. Procter's study. 
There can be no doubt that he was led thither by 
the Spirit of Him whose " counsels are from ev- 
erlasting," and who had chosen him as the in- 
strument, by which " a great and effectual door 
was opened," through wjiich divine truth was at 
length permitted to enter. He was now fully sat- 
isfied that he had not mistaken the preacher ; and 
the lively zeal and affectionate warmth, which 
were displayed in setting before him u the way, and 
the truth, and the life, 5 ' melted the rugged stern- 
ness of his nature at once. His eyes filled with 
tears. " May I see you again, sir ?" " Certain- 
ly, whenever you wish it." " If my wife could 
hear you !" "Bring her to church with you." 
" We have no place there, sir ; and we have ne- 
ver been used to intrude ourselves : it is not our 
way : but if she could hear you explain that chap- 



72 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



ter!" — he hesitated — " if it would not be too much 
to ask— if you could find time—" " You wish 
me to come to your own home — can I do it with 
safety ? You know the character you foresters 
bear — will you promise to behave well V. Every 
assurance was given, and the next evening was 
appointed. 

I have heard Mr. Procter say that, through the 
whole of the preceding day, he could not reflect 
that he had engaged to enter the strong-hold of 
this desperate set without feeling considerable 
trepidation. This was not lessened when, on en- 
tering the cottage of Thomas Morgan, he found 
it crowded to excess by men, whose stern and al- 
most ferocious countenances were blackened by 
the labors of the coal-pits, from which they had 
just ascended. Mr. Procter, who was a nervous 
and somewhat timid character, was startled on 
first opening the door, and looked at Thomas Mor- 
gan, the only one he knew — " What is the mean- 
ing of all this V 9 "I hope you will forgive me, 
sir, but a few of my neighbors, when they heard 
that you thought me worth coming after to teach, 
were so anxious to hear you that I could not re- 



THE FOREST OF DEAN. 



f 

73 



fuse them." After reading and explaining such 
chapters as he had selected, and praying for their 
spiritual welfare, he arose to take leave of them. 
They had hitherto maintained a respectful si- 
lence, but they all now united in imploring him 
to come again. 

At the next meeting, the room could not con- 
tain the numbers that had assembled, and much 
inconvenience was suffered in consequence. Mr. 
Procter was led to lament that these poor people 
had no appointed place for divine worship and 
instruction, and as he rode home his mind was 
full of the subject. He was not rich. The liv- 
ing of Newland was at that time barely sufficient 
for his support. He had no interest, political or 
otherwise, nor had he such an acquaintance with 
the rich and powerful as might lead him to hope 
much from their influence ; but he saw that " the 
fields were ripe for the harvest," and he deter- 
mined " in the strength of the Lord God" to 
make a beginning. He drew up a statement of 
the case, representing the wants of the foresters, 
and their eagerness for instruction, &c, &c. 
This he read over to Thomas Morgan, whose 
7* 



f 

74 THE FOREST OF DEAN. 

mind had been much troubled on the subject. 
The good man desired to give the amount of his 
hard-earned savings towards this great object. 
He gave his garden ground for the site of a 
chapel, and five guineas towards its erection. 
The foresters were unanimous in begging to add 
their little savings to the general fund, and en- 
gaged, of their own accord, to put by every week 
whatever they could save for the future. Ap- 
plication was made to government, through the 
means of Mr. Wilberforce and Mr. Vansittart, 
and assistance was given, but I know not to what 
amount. The chapel was begun, however ; sub 
scriptions were solicited in every part of the 
kingdom ; and enough was at length obtained 
for its completion. 



NURSE WILSON. 



** What God hath cleansed., that call thou cot common." — Acts 
x.15. 

I have often thought of this passage of Scrip- 
ture when I have been conversing with my poor 
neighbors. Many people have remarked, as well 
as myself, the power of religion to elevate the 
mind and even the language. I wish I could 
hold up to all the world the examples that I have 
seen of this in humble life. I will try to remem- 
ber what I have known of one, who will not soon 
be forgotten by any person in this parish. 
Every one who wanted help or comfort in trouble 
will remember Nurse Wilson. She might real- 
ly be called the friend of the friendless ; and, as 
she had no children of her own, her benevolent 
nature and warm affections seemed at all times 
to take in the whole human race. She had a 



76 



NURSE WILSON. 



little love for every body, but to all connected 
with her, to every one who could claim relation- 
ship, or had ever done her a service, there were 
no bounds to her overflowing kindness. 

She was the daughter of a farmer in this 
parish, and had married, early in life, one of her 
father's laborers. From the consequences of 
this imprudent step she suffered all her life, in- 
asmuch as it kept her among the poor of the 
land, and, if she had lived to be utterly helpless, 
she might have ended her days in a work-house. 
From this trial she was mercifully saved ; and 
the manner of her death was just in accordance 
with that " mercy and goodness" which she used 
to say had " followed her all the days of her life." 
She was very young when she married, "or may 
be," she said, " I should have known better." 
Be that as it may, her warm heart must always 
have found objects for its affections. 

It seems that up to a considerable period of 
her married life, she lived as others live. She 
maintained her character for respectability among 
her neighbors, but she was " without God in the 
world." " Our parish," she said, "was in a 



NURSE WILSON. 



77 



state of darkness. Ministers were not then as 
they are now. Many were not even moral 
men." However, on this point she did not love 
to speak ; she would gladly fly from it to the 
dear pastor, who first awakened her, and sent 
her to her Bible. "He made me think, and 
reason with myself, and try to escape from my 
conscience ; but it was a long time before I was 
brought as a humble penitent to the cross of 
Christ.' 5 — "At length," she said, "I was driven 
from all my strong-holds. I saw that I was a fall- 
en sinner. Every verse in my Bible spoke to 
me of this, and I wondered how it was that I 
had never seen it before. One reason might be, 
that I had never looked at my Bible with any in- 
terest. I had sometimes taken it up as a duty ; 
but I had never looked to it for instruction, for 
direction, for reproof. Now I saw that it was 
God's own mercy; and my heart said, if the 
Lord has spoken to man, surely what he says 
should be more precious than gold or rubies, 
and on my bended knees would I take the pre- 
cious gift. And it was on my knees, when I was 
humbling myself before him in prayer, that he 
gave me power to joy in the Holy Ghost. 



78 



NURSE WILSON. 



" I had sat up, for my heart was heavy. 1 
had fought so stubbornly against my convictions, 
I had so long boasted of my integrity, and of my 
having no need of repentance as a sinner, that it 
was no wonder, when my eyes were at length 
opened, that my soul should refuse comfort, and 
have many perplexing doubts of my acceptance. 
But one blessed night, after my husband was 
gone to bed, I set myself to work to search the 
Scriptures, and then I poured out my soul in 
prayer. I prayed, like Hannah, as a woman 
troubled in spirit. I was alone with God, and 
he vouchsafed to give me such an understanding 
of His blessed Word, that I saw there was hope 
even for me. It was like a flood of light burst- 
ing in upon me. The place seemed like holy 
ground, and I cried out aloud — c My soul doth 
magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced 
in God my Saviour ; for He hath regarded the 
lowliness of his handmaiden.' — I suppose I must 
have spoken above my natural tone of voice, for 
my husband, who was sleeping in the inner room. 
awoke 3 and asked what was the matter. He 
was vexed at being disturbed^ and spoke rather 



NURSE WILSON. 



79 



sharply, and it seemed to break the charm ; it 
brought me back to my worldly cares and trou- 
bles. I prayed him to be still ; for it seemed to 
me that I had been favored with an angel's visit, 
and I thought he would send away my heavenly 
guest. 

"1 am not surprised that my poor husband 
should fancy I was going mad. He ' wondered 
what I should take up next — he wondered what 
would come of it,' &c." And here I may say, 
that many people are not sufficiently careful to 
to show their poor ignorant friends and neigh- 
bors what does come of it. My good nurse resolv- 
ed, by God's help, to show to her husband what 
did come of the teaching of the Holy Spirit. And 
most truly, most beautifully, did she exemplify to 
all around her, the fruits of the Spirit. She had 
great need of spiritual assistance, for she was 
" troubled on every side," Her father, as well 
as her husband, tried every means to thwart and 
perplex her ; but, as usually happens in such 
cases, she was only the more firmly fixed, the 
more determined, " having done all, to stand." 
She saw that their eyes were upon her to detect 



80 



NURSE WILSON* 



some flaw in her conduct, something wrong which 
they might charge upon her religion. " But they 
only made me the more careful about what I did 
and said, lest I should bring discredit on the cause, 
as well as wound my own soul ; and after a while 
my troubles in this way ceased. One of my sis- 
ters spoke to my father of the sinfulness of inter- 
rupting me, and preventing me from doing what 
I considered my duty. 6 Then why/ he asked, 
6 don't you do the same V ■ Because,' she said, 
6 1 am like Martha, careful and troubled about 
many things, and Susan is like Mary ; she has 
chosen the good part, which shall never be taken 
away.' " 

I do not know if the old man became any bet- 
ter in this respect, but I know that he had ample 
cause to bless the day when his daughter became 
a servant of God, instead of one who only sought 
to please herself. Her husband, who was always 
at hand, and who had taken up many prejudices 
against people who made an open profession of 
religion, perhaps from seeing how little difference 
it made in their daily conduct, was a great trial 
to her for some time ; but he was at length over- 



NURSE WILSOft. 



81 



come* On one particular evening, she had pre-- 
pared herself to go and hear some very popular 
preacher, who had come from a distance, and 
could only stay that one night. Just as she had 
got her bonnet and cloak on to go, she saw her 
husband coming home from work before his time. 
He had been seized with some inward complaint 
to which he was subject, and he passed through 
the house into the bed- room and went to bed. " I 
knew/ 5 said nurse, " he would wish for something 
warm, and I saw that my duty was plainly set 
before me ; so I took off my bonnet and cloak, 
and gave up all thoughts of going. It was sum- 
mer, and I had to light my fire, so it was a good 
while before I got the kettle to boil, but then I 
went and told my husband. < Why, how is this/ 
said he, 6 1 thought nothing in this world would 
have kept you from the lecture — what will you 
do for want of your teaching V 6 Well,' I an- 
swered,. 6 1 have gone to very little purpose yet f 
if I have not learned to attend to my duties, 
When you want waiting upon, it is my duty to 
wait upon you.' His reply to this was very de- 
lightful to me. s Now, wife, from this time forth, 
8 



NURSE WILSON. 



Pll never meddle with thee again in the way of 
preventing thee from going to a place of wor- 
ship. 5 " 

And he kept his word. He would rather as- 
sist her than otherwise, drive her cow up instead 
of driving it away on lecture nights, help her in 
her work, or tell her to leave it for him, any thing 
rather than she should lose what was to her the 
" wine of life." I cannot help thinking that, if 
all professors of religion were careful to maintain 
good works, they would not only find less oppo» 
sition from their worldly-minded friends, but be 
more likely to win them over to their own side ; 
but, when they find that they do little else but 
talk about religion, while their daily temper and 
conduct show none of its fruits, they may well 
ask, " what do ye more than others ?" I do not 
know what the usual conduct of my dear nurse 
had been before she became a religious charac- 
ter, but I should think it was always full of all 
manner of kindness, from the natural overflowing 
of a warm heart, which was continually seeking 
objects upon which to exercise itself. After the 
time I have mentioned, her motives were sancti* 



NURSE WILSON. 



83 



fled ; and, when she attended a sick person, she 
strove to minister to the mind as well as to the 
body. 

Many a beautiful and touching history has she 
given me of her experience in these matters. 
There was one particular case that she used to 
-describe as so full of horror that it made her shud- 
der to remember it. It was that of a poor woman 
who had led a life of open vice, and who had sti- 
fled the warnings of her conscience, chiefly by 
saying that God was merciful, and knew her 
temptations, and so on. When this woman came 
to die, she refused all consolation, all prayer. 
Every attempt to give her hope was in vain. She 
always said, " My day is past — the door of mercy 
is shut — to hell I must go." When they talked 
to her of repentance, she would answer, " Yes, I 
always thought I could repent whenever I pleased, 
and I always meant to do it. Now I find that I can- 
not. I have neither repentance nor faith, except 
such as the devils have. They believe and tremble, 
and so do I." She would suffer the prayers of 
her pious friends to be offered up for her, but she 
never joined in them. At the last, she sent a pe~ 



64 



NURSE WILSON. 



remptory message for nurse to go to her, and, as 
soon as she presented herself, the wretched woman 
screamed out, " I only want to tell you that I am 
dying, and that I am quite sure of going to hell. 
Hell is open to receive me." And, after repeat- 
ing this with great violence several times, she 
sank back and died — perhaps the sooner for hav- 
ing exhausted herself by her powerful exertions 
to tell all around her, of the full certainty she 
had of the fate that awaited her. 

Such a death as this appears very terrible ; but 
to me there is something still more terrible in the 
delusion which I have witnessed beside many 
death-beds; where the sinner is quite at ease, 
perhaps even exhorting others, and yet quite ig- 
norant of the humble and contrite heart which 
Christ gives to all his people ; building all his 
hopes on excited feeling, called forth perhaps by 
the clamorous, frantic shouts of some well-mean- 
ing but ignorant friend, who seems to take that 
passage of Scripture literally, that " the kingdom 
of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take 
it by force." I have seen such instances, — and 
I know of one in the parish at this moment, but I 
cannot bear to dwell upon it. 



NURSE WILSON. 85 

I have said that my good nurse had no chil- 
dren. She had therefore more time for reading, 
and that might have given to her mind a cultiva- 
tion which is rarely seen in her station of life. 
She was always fond of a hook, and I hold it as a 
moral impossibility that the mind should not im- 
prove if a person will only read. But then the 
books should not be all on one side. I mean that 
we should accustom ourselves to the opinions of 
opposite parties. I remember on one occasion 
being in a house, where I searched in vain for 
any publication, which did not emanate from the 
sect to which its inmates belonged. Here was 
their magazine ; there I found their newspaper : 
and every book in their little library was on the 
same side. These good folks, I thought, will of 
course fancy that they alone " are the people, and 
that wisdom will die with them. " And so they 
did. They could not for a moment imagine that 
there could be any right feeling, hardly any right 
action, out of their own sect. This kind of big- 
otry may be found, I am afraid, in all ranks of 
life, from the highest to the lowest. I do not be- 
lieve, however, that nurse was chargeable with 
8* 



86 



NURSE WILSON. 



it. She reverenced good men, wherever she 
found them ; but she naturally considered the 
minister, under whose preaching she had been 
first awakened, as the very best in the whole 
world ; and when he died, I can bear witness 
that she mourned him as a father ; and well 
might he take pleasure in seeing such fruit of 
his ministry. 

I have said that nurse never had any children. 
She used to say, " The Lord never gave me chil- 
dren. He always meant that I should take care 
of my father and mother." They were both re- 
duced by old age and sickness to the state of help- 
less childhood. For some years before their death 
they were both bed-ridden, and afflicted in so pe- 
culiar a manner that they could not, in the slight- 
est degree, help themselves ; and never was there 
a more beautiful instance of filial piety exhibited 
than what was seen in their humble cottage. The 
two aged parents were in two beds side by side, 
and the dutiful daughter had her own bed placed 
at the foot, tha't she might be ready to minister to 
their wants by night as well as by day. It was 
her delight to do this ; and even to procure for 



NURSE WILSON. 



87 



them all the pleasures that their situation would 
admit of. Before the old man was entirely con- 
fined to his bed, she was not satisfied to dress and 
wash him, and seat him in his chair in the house, 
and take no more thought of him ; she would seek 
out little enjoyments for him, suited to his former 
habits and circumstances. She would find a sun- 
ny place in the garden where he could see the 
passers-by, and she was thankful to any one 
who would stop and talk a bit to the old man. 
His mind was reduced to a state of childish im- 
becility, and she sought for him the amusements 
of a child. 

On the day of the Jubilee, there were rejoic- 
ings, stalls, and other signs of festivity, in one 
part of the village, and thither the kind daughter 
had her father conveyed in his chair. She had 
dressed him in his best clothes ; and, as she said, 
" his blue eyes looked round and wondered and 
when the people shouted, he clapped his hands 
and shouted too ; and, though she could not make 
him understand what it was all about, she had 
the satisfaction of thinking that he partook of the 
general joy. In this, and various other ways, the 



ss 



NURSE WILSON. 



old age, which is in general so " dark and un- 
lovely/ 5 was made light and cheerful by her 
sweet and pure affection. 

But the lives of these aged parents were pro- 
longed, till it required all the strength of her re- 
ligious principles to enable nurse to go through 
the arduous duties that their situation called for. 
The poor mother was so sorely afflicted, that the 
whole house, and even the garden, was more of- 
fensive than could have been believed. A lady, 
who had intended to visit the poor creature, could 
get no farther than the garden gate. The smell 
from the open door convinced her that she should 
not be able to bear it * and she therefore returned 
home. What must it have been to live in such 
an atmosphere ? Yet this was submitted to with- 
out a murmur ; and every thing that the most del- 
icate mind could suggest was done to conceal 
from the poor mother the suffering that she in- 
flicted upon her attendant. " I always took care,' 7 
she said, " that my dear mother should not know 
how hard I found it to do my duty in waiting upon 
her. I was obliged to tie a handkerchief over my 
mouth and nose, but she never knew it. I man- 



NURSE WILSON. 



89 



aged to draw the curtain and so fix her that she 
could not see me, while I changed the clothes and 
did what was necessary. Once, I remember, I 
was nearly overcome, but bless the Lord ! my 
mother did not find it out. I managed to get to 
the outer door, and, as I stood leaning against it, 
I said, 6 Oh ! what shall I do ? I never can bear 
it 9 — and, since my poor mother has been dead, I 
have remembered them words ; and oh ! how 
heavy they have pressed upon my heart ! The 
Lord forgive me ! I bless His name that He gave 
me such a measure of His grace, that, I had no 
sooner uttered them, than my heart smote me ; 
and I cried out in my better feelings, 6 Is it of my 
own dear mother that I say this ? Do I complain 
of being able to wait upon her ? Oh ! let me soon- 
er bless God that I am spared to do this, and save 
her from the hand of a stranger.' " Never after 
this time did she feel her offices a burthen. 

The two aged parents lived to the astonish- 
ment of every one ; and, even in their most 
feeble and diseased state, seemed to have some 
enjoyment of their lives ; but at length they both 
died in peace, and she was left to follow them. 



90 



NURSE WILSON. 



It may seem suprising that with " a conscience so 
void of offence both towards God and man," 
this good woman should have had such a contin- 
ued dread and fear of death, but so it was.* She 
spoke of it to the good minister under whose 
preaching she had been first awakened, and he 
made her this remarkable answer: "Susan, 
you want to feel the grace of a dying hour before 
it comes. Be satisfied with the manna of to-day, 
and depend upon it, more will be given to-mor- 
row." The good old man was right. Our 
Heavenly Father never forsakes His children. 
He provides for every one according to their 
several wants and dispositions. It is therefore 
worse than useless to be careful and troubled 
about any thing. And yet, in spite of her strong, 
simple faith, my poor nurse would sometimes 
say, " I cannot help casting an anxious thought 
forward sometimes, for even if the Lord should 
be pleased to take away this slavish fear when 1 
come to a sick bed, I don't know what is to be 

* And so it was with the writer of these pages, till 
death came, and then it was completely and most merci- 
fully removed. — Note, by the Editor. 



NURSE WILSON. 



91 



done with me, I am so heavy to lift about." 
How vain were all these anxieties! She never 
came to a sick bed. She rose one morning as 
well or even better than usual. Before the sun 
set she was at rest with her Redeemer. I had 
sent her some birth-day cake about the middle of 
the day by one of the children, and desired to 
know how she was. " Tell your mamma, love, 
that I feel better than I have done for some time," 
she said, and then, putting the cake up in her 
cupboard, she smiled and added, " I shall save 
it till my husband comes home from work, and 
eat it with him." About that time her funeral 
knell was heard, and mournful as the sound was 
to me, I never felt so perfectly satisfied in any 
sudden death before. I did not see her in her 
last moments, but her death appears to have 
been occasioned by some disease of the heart, 
which, during the short time that elapsed after 
her first seizure, gave her so much pain, that she 
was unable to say much. The symptoms were 
spasmodic, and she soon sank under them. 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



" Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heiW 
of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him 7'*— 
St. James i. 5. 

I forget where I first met with Annie Bate- 
man. When I first came into the parish, I tried 
to find out all the old people, and I think it was 
my good nurse who named her to me as an ob- 
ject of charity. I was confined to my room for 
some weeks by illness, and during all this time I 
tried to become acquainted with my poor neigh- 
bors ; and, in general, I think the impression I 
received of their different characters was ; a cor- 
rect one. For example ; I remember asking 
my nurse about a man, who was walking home 
from his work in the field before my window. 
w Now," I said, " I fancy I can see, by that poor 
man's manner of walking, that he has not a very 



happy home, or that he has a great deal to make 
him thoughtful.' 7 — "Well ma'am," " she an-* 
swered," you are not far wrong. It is poor Mr, 
Colmam He is one of our farmers, and he has 
not a very comfortable fireside^ for his wife is a 
very quarrelsome woman. Then, he is borne 
down by a large family ; but I don't know that 
he makes a trouble of that, for when his twelfth 
child was born, he took it from the nurse into 
his arms, and said, after he had looked at it a 
bit — £ Bless thee, my bairn, thou'st as welcome a3 
the first !'— " I am sure, nurse," I said, " I shall 
love that man." And so I did ; and he loved 
every member of our family. He was one of 
those simple, affectionate creatures that we some^ 
times see thrown like a precious stone upon a 
heap of rubbish. None of his kindred or ac- 
quaintance appreciated him, or understood his 1 
character. Even those among our people who 
were superior in understanding and discernment, 
failed in their judgment of him. The best points of 
his character were turned against him, and, until 
we came, he was trodden under foot. The fact is ? 
that there was no sympathy between him and 
9 



S4 



AHNiE BATE MAN* 



any one around him. We alone knew and val- 
ued his gentle, kindly nature* 

The first time he heard my husband preach, 
he felt, as he afterwards told me, " that his heart 
Was knit to that man. 5 ' Soon after he was ap* 
pointed church warden, and this appeared to 
strengthen the tie. He considered the appoint* 
ment to this office as a favor. " You have done 
me an honor, sir, 5 ' he said, " and may the Lord 
give me grace to fulfil the duties of the office !' 5 
We had every reason to think him a man of 
conscientious piety, and yet he was meanly 
thought of by others. He lay under the impu- 
tation of dishonesty for many years. When he 
was on his death-bed my husband asked him if 
there was any thing he could do for him* " Yes, 
sir,"' he said, " you can perhaps clear my cha* 
racter ; and, for my children's sake, it may be 
worth while to do so. You may perhaps know 
that I am supposed to be the person, who was 
discovered by Mr. Greville at midnight stealing 
his coals. I was taunted with this only a short 
time since, at a vestry-meeting. Now / know,- 
and God knows, that I am innocent of this thing ) 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



95 



but the world does not know it, and it may be as 
well to set the matter right now. Will you 
then write to Mr. Greville, tell him what I have 
now said, and ask him to clear my character ? 
I do not ask him to say who was the thief, but 
only to put down on paper, that George Colman 
was not the man/' 

This appeal was instantly responded to. Mr. 
Greville took the matter up very warmly. He 
grieved to say that he was under a solemn pro- 
mise not to discover the name of the culprit, who 
had been discovered by him in the very act, but 
he was at all times ready to declare that George 
Colman had nothing whatever to do with it. 
One would have thought that this was enough, 
but people are hard to be persuaded against their 
wills. Our parish-officers looked very wise, 
and shook their heads, and I believe were " of 
the same opinion still." The kind letter of vin- 
dication was read to the dying man. He smiled, 
and observed that Mr. Greville seemed to care 
more about it than he did. " But all earthly 
things appear to me now in faint colors. They 
are but dust in the balance. Oh ! that I could 



98 



ANNIE BAT EM AN. 



be sure of meeting all my family in the kingdom 
of Heaven ! That is the only thing that troubles 
me. 5 ' And to the very last, he continued to 
press on his wife the importance of a religious 
life. Violent and capricious as she had always 
been in her temper, he continued to regard her 
with tender affection to the last moment. I think 
almost his last words, as he looked at her, were, 
" Oh ! that I could be sure of thy being in the 
right way !" 

But I have lost sight of my old friend Annie Bate- 
man. When I first came here, she was living 
with her husband in one of the parish houses by the 
wayside. Her husband had given over work, on 
account of his age and infirmities. He passed his 
time in sitting by the fireside in winter, and out- 
side the door in summer, while Annie, upright 
and active, contrived to spin, and do something 
towards eking out the scanty pittance which the 
parish allowed. The difference between the two 
was very remarkable. He could always furnish 
a long list of grievances and oppressions, while 
Annie was invariably full of joy and thanksgiv- 
ing, I remember taking a friend once to visit 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



97 



them. She had scarcely ever seen such a com- 
fortless hovel ; and when she heard Annie, 
in the course of our visit, talk of her many mer- 
cies, and say, " when I look round and see how 
the Lord has provided for me, my heart over- 
flows with love and gratitude," my friend could 
searcely forbear a smile. " Bless the Lord !" 
was her constant expression, when any thing was 
given to her. " And won't you bless me too V 9 
said my friend. " Oh ! sure I will, but I look 
up to Him first, for you know you are only His 
instrument." 

She was naturally a woman of strong powers 
of mind ; and they had been cultivated to the 
utmost, as far as she had time and opportunity. 
Some part of every day was given to reading. 
The word of God was her great treasury ; but 
she read other books also ; and whatever she 
read she made her own. There was always 
such a bright, cheerful aspect about her religion, 
that I asked her one day if she had ever any 
seasons of depression. " No, 7 ' she said, without 
any hesitation, " I have walked for fifty years 
in the light of God's countenance." Upon far- 
9* 



98 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



ther inquiry, she told me how she had been 
brought from darkness to light. " The time I 
look back upon," she said, " was a dark time. 
We might well say, ' the word of the Lord was 
precious in those days,' for there were few who 
heard, or cared to hear, about it. ' Darkness 
covered the earth, and gross darkness the people.' 
I was a strong, high-spirited woman, and I am 
sure I don't know how I came to put my foot in- 
to any place where preaching was going on, for 
I always found enough to do with my family ; 
but so it was. Some man (I neither know his 
name, nor his person, but I shall find him out in 
Heaven, for he was the first who ever made me 
feel I had a soul to be saved, he was I believe a 
travelling preacher) made a halt in this place. 
Many went to hear him, but I am not aware 
that any heart but my own was opened to receive 
the word. The first glimmering of light was 
then given to me. I saw my state as a sinner, 
but I did not see my Saviour. And here the en- 
emy had his advantage. He does not mind our 
getting this knowledge provided we go no far- 
ther. 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



99 



" The preacher went his way ; and I had no 
one to speak to, no one who did not think me mad. 
Days and months passed on, and I was still the 
same. My Bible only spoke to me of judgment 
and eternity. I could only believe that I belong- 
ed to Satan; and that, whenever death came, there 
was nothing but hell before me. My health be- 
gan, at last, to give way under my load of mis- 
ery, and my husband was forced to hire a woman 
to lake care of the family and do the work of the 
house. The curate of this parish, at that time, 
was a young man, who was very kind to the poor, 
when he was at home, but that was seldom, for 
he was fond of gay company and amusement ; 
however, I one day persuaded the woman who 
was in the house, to go to him and describe my 
case, and tell him what a poor creature I was, 
and ask what I must do. ' Tell her, 5 said he, 
< that she must seek the Lord with fear and trem- 
bling.' ' Now, God, help me V I said, ' for I see 
that the help of man is vain. Is it not this very 
fear and trembling which has brought me to the 
gates of the grave 2 l s not the thought of Satan 
triumphing over me at the hour of death constant- 



100 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



ly before me ? Have I the least hope that I shall 
escape him V Well, I continued in this way a 
long time. 6 My soul desired the first ripe fruit, 
and I found no cluster to eat till one day I took 
up my Bible, as I had often done before, after 
wringing my hands in utter despair, and I open- 
ed upon the 7th chapter of Micah. The words 
are written upon my heart as with a pen of iron. 
' Therefore I will look unto the Lord ; I will wait 
for the God of my salvation : my God will hear 
me. Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy : 
when I fall, I shall arise ; when I sit in darkness, 
the Lord shall be a light unto me. I will bear 
the indignation of the Lord, because I have sin- 
ned against Him, until He plead my cause, and 
execute judgment for me : He will bring me forth 
to the light, and I shall behold his righteousness.' 
This was the passage which my Lord permitted 
to speak comfort to my soul. It was like the 
giving of sight to the blind. The book was un- 
sealed ; and I could only wonder at my want of 
understanding before. I could now find my Sa- 
viour every where. I saw that the mighty work 
of man's redemption was not for me to do for my- 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



101 



self. It was already done." Here she made a 
pause, and, I well remember, cast up her eyes to 
heaven, saying, " Can I ever, ever forget the mer- 
cies of that time ? No wonder that the blessed 
words of that chapter have been written upon my 
heart. I had no need to learn them. It is now 
more than fifty years ago, and I have walked in 
that light ever since. I have had many trials, 
but I have always been able to rejoice in the 
Lord. Yes, He has laid His hand upon me. He 
has taken away my earthly treasures ; but they 
are laid up for me in heaven. He gave me eight 
living children : they are all gone ; and here 
am I left, like an old withered tree, stripped of 
its leaves." 

Annie very rarely spoke of either of her hus- 
bands. It was from others that I made out they 
had both been very bad ones ; but I could never 
find that she bad been any thing but a consistent 
Christian. Her first husband had been an aban- 
doned reprobate, a drunkard, and a poacher. He 
seems to have been the terror of the neighborhood ; 
but Annie was not a timid woman, and it does 
not appear that she held him in any fear. An 



102 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



old neighbor, who was about her own age, told 
me, she had listened for hours, after he had come 
home drunk, expecting some act of violence ; but 
she never heard Annie's voice, except it was to 
bless the Lord if she escaped a blow. Once, and 
only once, he was struck with her patient forbear- 
ance, or perhaps with the exclamation she used. 
He had thrown a stone jug full of water all over 
her. She stooped and escaped the pitcher, which 
was aimed at her head, and as she wiped the wa- 
ter from her clothes, she said, " Bless the Lord ! 
If I had been in hell, how glad I should have 
been of this water !" The drunken reprobate 
was struck with the allusion, and all that night 
he was quiet. This poor old woman, who had 
been her neighbor for so many years, observed 
at the same time, that she did not give Annie so 
much credit for patience as other people did, " for 
you see, ma'am," she said, " she was a great 
scholar, and she always turned to her books for 
comfort. Many a time, when I have listened and 
found that the storm was over, either when he 
was gone out, or gone to bed, and I have crept in 
to speak a word to her, there she was with her 



ANNIE BATSMAN. 



loe 



book upon her lap, reading as quietly as if no- 
thing had been the matter. I used to say, 6 Well, 
if I was as strong and able as you are, Annie, I 
am sure I should try if I could not make him feel 
the weight of my arm. 5 e And what dost thou 
think I should get by that V she used to say. 
1 Oh, I don't know ; but I am sure flesh and 
blood never can stand against it.' c That is very 
sure : flesh and blood cannot stand against it 5 
but grace can. No, if I were to do as you would 
have me, I should not have peace here in my 
heart. I could not take up this book and find my 
title clear, There is nothing for me to do but 
bear it. The Lord may yet take him in hand. 
He has brought me from darkness to light, and 
He may bring him. But I am sure I cannot do 
it. I can only let him see that I have that with- 
in, which will make me able to bear up against 
all that he may lay upon me — aye, and that 
makes me happy too. 3 55 

Whether this wretched man ever received any 
benefit from her example, I could never discover. 
Annie was always silent about him. Neither 
could I ever clearly make out what were the cir* 



104 



ANNIE BATEMAN* 



eumstances which led her to form a second mar^ 
riage. I have some idea that the man pretended 
to religious convictions ; and yet I can hardly 
believe that a person of her very superior mental 
character could be easily deceived. How it was 
1 cannot tell. When I became acquainted with 
them, he was infirm, and not able to see to read, 
but this want, he told me, was well supplied, for 
he was " at school all day." By this I under- 
stood that Annie was endeavoring to teach him ; 
but, alas ! the good seed was sown upon stony 
ground. He always seemed to hear and acqui- 
esce ; but he was only alive to the things of this 
World. He only cared for his own ease and com- 
fort ; and, finding upon some occasion that his 
privileges were diminished, in a sudden fit of ill- 
humor he determined to go into the work-house, 
I knew nothing about it till the thing was done ; 
but I am sure it must have been a bitter trial for 
Annie. I said something of this kind to her* 
" Why, yes/ 5 she said, " I felt very sad when I 
left my own hearth, but I am more comfortable 
than I expected, and 4 the time is short.' " She 
had a happy facility of drawing comfort from the 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



105 



most untoward circumstances. On one occasion, 
when the wife of one of our farmers turned her 
from her door, and refused to relieve her with the 
other poor women on St. Thomas 5 Day, giving as 
a reason, that she " was not in her books," Annie 
remarked to the poor woman who came away 
with her, " Well, well ! if I am in the Lamb's 
Book of Life, it matters little whose books I am 
in here," 

It was not long after this that Annie was sum- 
moned to her rest. I never heard of one act of 
inconsistency, excent that of her second marriage, 
and for this she suffered to the latest hour of her 
life. I think she may have had power enough 
over her husband to restrain him from acts of 
gross sin ; and, from his listening patiently to her 
reading, she might hope that he was an altered 
man ; but I could never hear that he showed any 
sign of spiritual life. It was owing to his obsti- 
nate perverseness, that she died in a parish poor- 
house, un honored, unattended, without even a 
light 3 The mistress of the work-house was not 
at all an unkind person ; but " it was not the cus- 
tom of the place," she told me, " to provide any 
10 



106 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



attendant, or any extra comfort, not even a can- 
dle, for the sick and dying. It was their custom 
to go, the first thing in the morning, to the room 
where they expected a death, because— the soon- 
er the body was straightened the better ! !" This 
was under the old system. There are, doubt- 
less, some hardships in the New Poor Laws, and 
some things want amendment, but I think there 
can be no such atrocity as I witnessed at the 
death of poor Annie. 

Her illness was short. I had seen her about 
ten days before, and the only thing I remember 
was, that she did not seem in her usual good 
spirits, but she did not complain, nor did I hear 
that she was ill till she was dead. Then I hur- 
ried down, and found the mistress of the estab- 
lishment rummaging the dead woman's boxes, 
and collecting all that belonged to her, lest her 
husband should lay claim to any article. He 
once or twice remarked, that " she was hardly 
cold, and that he thought it hard not to be allow- 
ed to keep a scrap, or rag, of any thing that be- 
longed to his poor wife." " She had died," 
he told me, " in the night. He could not tell 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



107 



when, for there was no light, and no one to sit up 
with her." He went on grumbling, and casting 
every now and then most unloving looks upon 
the mistress. She continued her work with the 
most imperturbable good humor. To her the 
whole thing was a mere matter of business. It 
was her duty to see that her own husband reaped 
all the advantage which the death of a pauper 
gave him, and she was therefore intent upon se- 
curing the clothes which were now his property. 
I stood in silent contemplation of the body, which 
had been merely laid straight, and as it were cast 
aside, till the more important work was over, of 
ascertaining what she had left that could be turn- 
ed to any account. I observed, " that the features 
of the face appeared flattened." The mistress of 
the w r ork-house suspended her search for a mo- 
ment, and then told me, in her usual complacent 
manner, " that she had put the candlestick down 
without looking where, and and after a time she 
found that it was on the face of the corpse, so 
that the nose had become flattened !" And this 
was the manner of Annie Bateman's death ! She, 
over whom angels had rejoiced, was thus mal- 
treated by a fellow-mortal ! 



108 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



No stone marks the place where she rests, nor 
was there one relative to follow her to the grave ; 
but she who loved and served her Redeemer on 
earth, will be owned by Him at the resurrection 
of the just. I could not help fancying that all 
the circumstances which marked the close of her 
life, were the temporal punishment inflicted on 
her, for having committed the great sin of ally- 
ing herself to one who was not a servant of God* 
The husband of Annie furnished another proof, if 
one were wanting, that in the great work of turn- 
ing the sinner to God, vain is the help of man. 
He mourned her loss with perfect sincerity. She 
had labored to the last moment to procure him 
such little comforts as he was not allowed in the 
work-house. She had never been confined to the 
house, except during the last few days of her life > 
and she managed to spin wool and make mops ? 
which enabled her to supply her husband with 
the little superfluities to which he had been ac- 
customed. At her death, he complained bitterly 
of this deprivation ; and my husband allowed 
him, as long as he lived, a certain sum every 
week, which was enough to supply him with his 



ANNIE BATEMAN. 



109 



tobacco, which formed, I believe, the whole of 
his enjoyment. 

He continued to live on, a cumberer of the 
ground, but never exhibited any sign of spiritual 
life. I question if, at the bottom, he did not find 
more rest and satisfaction after his wife's death, 
for he was released from all attempts to turn his 
thoughts to the things of another world ; except 
indeed when my husband went down, as he did 
every Saturday evening, to read the service of 
the church, and endeavor to instruct the poor 
people who were in the house. At such times he 
was always particularly deaf ; and it was quite 
impossible to know whether he heard or not. He 
would always agree to every thing that was said, 
and admit that it was very desirable to join his 
wife in heaven ; but his whole soul was taken up 
with the things of this world, and every day, as 
it passed, made the difficulty of change still great- 
er. I saw him in his last moments. He was 
seized with a kind of fit, as he sat by the fireside. 
It took away from him the power of speech, but 
I think he had the use of his limbs, for he reach- 
ed out his hand for his stick, which stood in its 
10* 



110 



ANNIE BATEMAN* 



accustomed place, in the corner by the fire. The 
woman, who had been called in to assist in get- 
ting him to bed, took the stick from him, and, 
with more truth than feeling, shouted in his ear, 
" Let the stick alone, I tell ye ; you'll never want 
it any more ; you're going to die, I say." I am 
not sure that he understood this speech, but he 
let go the stick, and resigned himself to the hands 
of the woman, who got him to his bed, from 
which he never rose again. In a few hours he 
died, without speaking, or showing any sign of 
recognition* 



FANNY BELL. 



** Thou requirest truth in the inward parts." — Psalm Ii. 6\ 

I often think we are not half considerate 
enough in our judgment of the characters of our 
poor neighbors. Instead of blaming them so 
much when they do wrong, we should consider 
that the only wonder is, that they ever do right. 
There is scarcely a family in this parish, where 
I could not trace the evil effects of the manner in 
which they had been brought up. Our Sunday 
schools cannot undo the evil of the week. We 
have children in them who never hear one word 
of right principle, from Monday morning to Sat- 
urday night. If ever they are corrected, it is 
when they have roused the passions of their mo- 
thers, by some accidental injury to their clothes, 
or perhaps to the furniture. But when do you 
hear of a mother's punishing her child for telling 



112 



FANNY BELL. 



a lie ? Of all vices, this is the one that is most 
deeply rooted amongst the poor. Indeed, the whole 
life of the mother is often a lie. If we go to their 
houses, to make any inquiry about our scholars, 
or upon any other occasion, the whole aim of the 
parent is to turn our visit to account. The chil- 
dren hear her enter into details, which they all 
know to be got up for the occasion, or at least 
grossly exaggerated ; and, if she gains any thing 
by her plausible tongue, they lose the contempt 
which they might otherwise feel, in the admira- 
tion of her success. 

Fanny Bell was one of a large family brought 
up in this way. Her mother was an old woman 
when I came here, and a most superior and ex- 
traordinary person, but all her talents were ex- 
erted in the service of sin. I never knew more 
than two of her large family ; but all the daugh- 
ters turned out ill. Fanny Bell must have been 
strikingly beautiful. When I first knew her, she 
was the mother of many children ; but she still 
retained a great share of her beauty. Her mind 
was of a high order. I could scarcely ever re- 
sist her importunity when she determined that I 



FANNY BELL* 



113 



should be her victim. Whether she came to beg 
frocks, or shoes, or bonnets, she was sure to have 
them. 1 always admired her natural eloquence, 
and I did not dislike to hold conversation with 
her, now and then, though I knew I should be 
the sufferer in the end. 

She had several times made what is called a 
profession of religion ; that is, she had been ex- 
cited by the vehement appeals of some popular 
preacher, and had been led to cry out for mercy ; 
but, as is the case with most of these converts, 
she soon returned to her former ways ; and I at- 
tribute much of the present infidelity and miscon- 
duct of her husband, to what he has seen of her 
temporary reformations. In her last illness I fre- 
quently visited her ■ and I never saw a more re- 
markable person. She retained the same bold- 
ness of manner which had always distinguished 
her. She never scrupled to ask me for any thing 
that she thought would be of use to her, but she 
no longer made pretensions of any kind. Every 
thing that she said bore the stamp of truth. In 
a few brief, emphatic words, she told me that she 
was on the bed of death, "I do not mean that I 



114 



FANNY BELL. 



sjiall die to-day, or to-morrow, or this week, but 
I shall never rise from this bed.' 5 She was quite 
right : she lay many weeks : but she never rose 
from her bed again. " I am one," she said, " who 
has sinned against light and knowledge. I have 
made believe. I have made others believe that I 
was in earnest about the way of salvation, when I 
was not. I am in earnest now, but it is too late. 
What is that verse, where the Lord says, 1 I will 
laugh when your fear cometh F that is, when He 
has offered salvation, and given all the means, 
and the sinner has not thought it worth while to 
attend to them 1 That is my case ; and now I 
can fancy that my " fear is come," and the Lord 
" mocks me." 

I strove in vain to comfort her : she heard me 
with an unmoved countenance : and I was glad 
to escape from a scene so painful. " I will see 
you again soon," I said. " And would you leave 
a dying woman without prayer ?" " Will you 
pray with me, Fanny ?" " Ask God to give me 
the spirit of prayer. He has given me convic- 
tion of sin, but I want conversion of heart. I 
want Him to fill a heart which is full of the 



FANNY BELL. 



115 



World, with Himself. I am ready to doubt the 
possibility ; but the Bible says He can do all 
things." In this emphatic way she always 
spoke. Her day of deception was over. I have 
reason to know that every thing which she said 
to me during her illness was strictly true, not 
only of herself, but of all around her. One day 
she sent for me rather hastily, and desired to 
speak with me alone. " Well, Fanny," I said, 
" have you any thing more satisfactory to tell me 
of yourself?" "It is not of myself that I wish 
to speak to you now. I want to say something of 
my eldest girl. You may know, if you have ta- 
ken notice, that she is good looking. She is fond 
of dress ; and, God forgive me ! I have encou- 
raged her in this. I see the folly of it now. I 
see what it leads to. The other day, that young 
scoundrel, Dick Longman, came home with her. 
I called her to my bedside, and gave her a mes- 
sage for him, which would have sent him away. 
She is timid, and said, ' Mother, I dare not speak 
to him in that way. 5 Then I sent for that bold 
girl, Charlotte, and I ordered her to give the mes- 
sage. She liked to do it ; but he began to be 



116 



FANNY BELk. 



angry; and, among other things, said, 'I Wag 
none so good as to set myself up above him.' 
* That is true enough, 5 I said, ' but that is nothing 
to the purpose. While I have breath left in my 
body, I will not suffer you to keep company with 
any of my children. 5 I ordered him off, and 1 
had power enough left to make him go, but this 
will not last long. I have still authority over my 
children, but I shall soon be laid in the church- 
yard, and who will protect them then 1 What 1 
Want to ask is, will you, when I am gone^ some^ 
limes look in upon my poor girl ; and, if you see 
her going wrong, will you speak a word ; will 
you try to stop her ; Will you remind her of her 
mother's death-bed, and all that she has heard me 
say while I have been lying here ? 55 Of course 
I promised her, " but/ 5 I said, " she has a father. 
Fanny, why do you not speak to him V 9 " My 
husband ! 55 she said, " he take any trouble about 
his children ! 55 Then, after a pause, she added, 
" He has no power, if he had the will. He lets 
them all do just as they please, so that they keep 
out of his way, and he finds his meals ready for 
him when he comes in." At the moment, I 



FANNY BELL. 



117 



thought this was a hard judgment, but time has 
shown that it was a right one. 

It seemed that Fanny had worn a mask all her 
life long, which had now suddenly dropped off, or 
as if she had been shrouded in a mist which hid 
her better and higher qualities ; for, now that 
she spoke the words of truth and soberness, it was 
impossible not to be struck with the great supe- 
riority of her intellectual character. She often 
asked me to explain certain passages in the Bible, 
and, when I failed to satisfy her, she freely ex- 
pressed it, and would give her own conception of 
the meaning in a manner that I can truly say as- 
tonished me. I often wish that I had set down 
on paper, immediately after leaving her, the very 
remarkable observations that she made on diffi- 
cult parts of Scripture, chiefly such as bore on 
her own situation. " Now, 5 ' she often said, " as 
I lie here, and look back on my past life ; what 
a thing it seems that I should have been so taken 
up with the things of this world, when every day 
brought me nearer to another ! Why, a fine 
lady, who spends all her time in going about from 
place to place, playing cards, and dancing at 
11 



118 



FANNY BELL. 



balls, could not be farther from the kingdom of 
heaven than I was. And am I nearer now ? 
Who can tell ?" Her mind was very much dis- 
turbed with the idea of her day of grace being 
past ; and of its being in vain for her now to 
strive and pray ; and when I endeavored to com- 
bat this idea, she would reply, " Oh ! if you 
knew what I have resisted ! and even now what 
makes me pray, but because I am laid here wait- 
ing for the stroke of death ? I cannot get away. 
The apostle talks of a £ desire to depart and be 
with Christ/ Does any one feel like this ? I 
only want to hide myself as Adam did in the gar- 
den." In this way she would talk, and I never 
found her otherwise. 

Her unhappy state of mind made no impres- 
sion upon any one of her family. The mother 
was frequently there, and sometimes she would 
come up and talk with us. Once I was very 
much struck with her conversation. She brought 
forward a very difficult passage in the book of 
Job, and asked me how it was to be understood. 
I promised that I would inquire and let her 
know. When she went down, I expressed my 



FANNY BELL. 



119 



satisfaction that she had so much knowledge of 
the Scripture as she had shown. Fanny replied, 
" Yes, my mother is very well read in the Bible." 
" I hope I shall be able to satisfy her about this 
passage when I come again. 5 ' — There was a look 
of peculiar meaning about the countenance of 
the daughter ; and I said, " Don't you think your 
mother wishes for the explanation V — " No," she 
said, " she wishes you to believe that she does, 
but there is no truth in my poor mother, any 
more than there was in me." — I asked if her fa- 
ther had been to see her. " No," she said ; 
" my father has never been unkind to me ; and I 
dare say would do any thing he could for me ; but 
I am too near my death for him to come and see 
me. He would rather not see a person in my state. 
He always puts away the thoughts of death." 

Of all her large family there was but one, the 
eldest girl, who was old enough to benefit by the 
lesson which her comfortless state might have 
taught them. I do not know that she ever ad- 
dressed any one of them in particular. They 
had always been made to obey her, and, in the 
time of her health, no family could be more or- 



120 



FANNY BELL. 



derly ; but they were now riotous, and the house 
was in confusion. She told me that she knew it 
was so, but she did not suffer herself to be 
troubled about it. "I let all that go/' she said. 
" I hear their noise, and I know how things are 
going on, but it must be so. I am a broken bow : 
I am laid aside : I have no longer strength left 
to make my voice heard from this room, as I 
could when I was first laid here." 

I often found her youngest child, a pretty fair- 
haired boy, about three years old, seated on the 
bit of carpet by her bed-side. He did not speak, 
but seemed content to sit there, and look at 
his mother. I asked him once why he sat there, 
when all his brothers and sisters were out at play 
in the sun-shine. He made no answer, but 
looked wistfully at his mother. She sent him 
out to play. Her eyes followed him as he left 
the room : I saw a tear in them. " He is my 
youngest/ 5 she said, " and the Lord forgive me ! 
but I am afraid I love him the best. He is nev- 
er so well pleased, as when he is with me. He 
makes no noise, and very seldom speaks ; but he 
will sit for hours on that bit of carpet, looking at 
me. Sometimes the stillness of the room makes 



FANNY BELL. 



121 



him sleepy, and then he will slip off his shoes, 
creep up at the foot of the bed, and lie down be- 
side me. He always brings his basin of bread 
and milk, night and morning, to eat at my bed- 
side. The other day, I tried to make him under- 
stand that I was going to die. I said, £ Where 
wilt thou eat thy bread and milk when thy mo 
ther is gone V 1 What would I go for V he 
wanted to know. 4 1 shall die and be laid in 
the church-yard, what wilt thou do then V 6 He 
seemed to consider a bit, and then he said, c I 
shall ask Hannah to show me the place, and 
then I shall go and sit there.' " 

This little boy is in our Sunday-school, and 
there is a look of peculiar sweetness and inno- 
cence in his countenance, but I can hope no- 
thing for him. His father is living in gross immo- 
rality. He has a second family by a young 
woman living in the house with him ; and he 
refuses to marry her from affection for the mem- 
ory of his first wife, or from a kind of supersti- 
tious dread ; * he has " vowed/ 3 he says, " never 

* He has since married the girl at the Union, as the 
New Marriage Act allows. — Editor. 

11* 



122 



FANNY BELL. 



to go to church with another woman." I fear 
that he has a hardened conscience in this, as in 
every thing else. 

Fanny continued for many weeks in the state 
which I have described ; and I do not recollect 
that she ever gave any sign of hope for herself. 
She constantly said "that she had conviction, 
but that she had slighted the word of God, and 
therefore it was too late to hope for conversion." 
I was not at home at the time of her death, 
but I was told that she lay till nature was quite 
worn out, and then quietly expired* 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



She " had a dream and visions of" her " head upon her bed : then" 
she told her " dream" — She " spake and said, \ saw in my vision by 
night, and behold " Daniel vii. 1, 2. 

I have had a curious conversation to-day with 
a woman who has always been very disagreeable 
to me. Her manners are so exceedingly rough 
and uncourteous, as almost to amount to rude- 
ness ; and this had created such a prejudice in 
my mind, that I was rather unwilling to admit her 
on my list of subscribers to the clothing club. 
A year ago she became a member, and to-day 
she came to receive her money. I will put 
down exactly what passed between us. 

After counting over her money as if she had 
some suspicion that I intended to defraud her, 
she found at last that it was all right, and was 



124 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



going away, but I made some observation on her 
imperfect sight, and asked if she was able to 
read. " Yes ; I can read a clear print." — 
" Then you read your Bible sometimes V — 
" Yes ; the best parts I pretty well know by 
heart, and so that helps me." — " Can you read 
this tract ?"— " I think I maybe can."—" Will 
you read it to your husband ?" — " O yes." — " I 
don't know the character of your husband, but 
this tract contains the history of a drunkard." — 
" My husband was one of the biggest drunkards 
in the world, and one of the worst men that you 
ever heard talk of. When I first married him, 
he spent all the money he got at the public 
house ; and then, when he came home, he would 
beat me and turn me out of doors. The house 
was between us, but my place was on the out- 
side. Many a night I have spent on the outside, 
cold and hungry ; for, as I tell you, he cared 
for nought but drink ; and I might pine away 
and die, 'twas all the same to him. 

" We had no children, so he thought I 
might find myself ; but if he knew that I had 
money, he would beat me till he got it away, 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



125 



and then I saw no more of him till it was all spent. 
Once I spun a web of cloth, and he got hold 
of it and sold it for drink, and when I cried, he 
beat me so that I had much ado to move. To 
be sure he was very drunk. Once he got a 
knife under his pillow to cut my throat. I look- 
ed for nothing else but that I should be murdered. 
I had no friend but a sister, who lived some way 
off. I went to her, and she advised me to show 
my marks to the overseer, and tell him how 
William went on. So I did, and the constable 
took him to the Justice, and then he cried for 
mercy ; but the Justice said, ( No, you had no 
mercy on your wife, and to prison you shall go. 5 
Well, then I could have kept him there, and I 
thought I would ; but he got a letter sent to me, 
and he promised that if I would not appear 
again him at the Sessions, he would never drink 
any more. Well, I let him off, and he came 
home drunk. — Well, I thought I must make 
away with myself. — There was no help for me. 
I had no comfort any where." 

Here she made a pause, as if doubtful of her 
auditor. I said, "Now sit down, and tell me the 



126 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



end of this. You say he is not a drunkard now/ 5 
" No, he has not been drunk these twenty years. 
I think that was the time." " What time ?" I 
said. " How did he become changed ?" " Well," 
she said, " he was worked upon, and so was I, by 
a dream" She saw that I was ready to smile, 
and she quoted from Job, " In a dream, in a vi- 
sion of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon 
men, in slumberings upon the bed ; then he open- 
eth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruc- 
tion." " Well, in this way I was dealt with. 
On one particular night, my husband had been 
rather worse than usual. He first kicked me out of 
bed ; and then, when I crept down to the fire and 
raked the ashes up to warm myself, he heard me, 
and came and put them out, and swore at me. I 
waited till I knew he was asleep, and then I crept 
into bed, for I was almost perished with cold, and 
I cried myself to sleep. 

" Well, in my sleep, I saw a white figure come 
in at the door ; and it came to my side of the 
bed ; and I was no ways frightened ; and it said, 
6 All this trouble is to bring you to God.' And I 
made answer, ' Nay, it is to drive me farther off/ 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



127 



[* Nay j udder off,' were the words which I made 
her interpret.] With this unbelieving answer, 
the white figure said no more ; but then I saw 
my own mother come from another part of the 
room, and she said, * What's the matter with thee, 
love V I said, O mother, I have got a drunken 
husband, and I think he will kill me, and I don't 
know what I mun do.' 6 It is all for thy good, 
child,' she said, 6 it is to bring thee to seek the 
Lord, and He has sent his angel to tell thee so.' 
Then I woke ; and I thought a good deal about 
my dream, I could not rest : I had nobody to ad- 
vise with : I was quite in darkness : but I heard of 
a good man not far off, and so I went to him. I un- 
derstood by little and little : it took my mind off 
from my troubles : and I longed for the time to 
come when I could see and hear him again. At 
last I got to know that Jesus Christ came to save 
sinners, and I was sure I was one. Well, I must 
try, I thought, to bear my husband's bad ways 
with more patience. He hated religious people, 
and used to take all opportunities of insulting 
them. 

" Well, one night I had been kept rather late. 



128 



MARTHA 3T0CKDALE. 



and I ran all the way home, thinking what a beat- 
ing I should get. I opened the door softly, and 
there sat my husband, but he never spoke ; so I 
took off my bonnet and my cloak, and then said, 
' 1 was afraid you'd think me late, but I did not 
know how the time got on. 5 6 No/ he said, ' thee 
should'nt have hurried so.' I shall never forget 
what I felt when I heard him spake in that how. 
I said to myself, ■ The devil is a liar again. He 
told me all the way home that I should get a beat- 
ing, and here the Lord has held my husband's 
arm, as he once shut the mouth of the lions for 
Daniel.' No more was said that I remember, 
but, as he had been so good, I ventured to stop 
again ; but I shook with fright as I opened the 
door ; I could not trust the Lord, though He had 
been so good to me. There was my husband 
waiting for me \ but he did not look angry ; he 
did not begin with an oath ; he said, * I thought 
I told thee not to hurry thyself in this way — why, 
thou hast been running. 5 ( Indeed/ I said, 6 1 
have run nearly all the way home. 5 6 1 don't 
want thee to do so/ he said, ( and I told thee so 
before. 5 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 129 

u I was wondering what was come over him, 
but I durst not say much ; so, after a bit, he ask- 
ed me w r hat the preacher had said, where was 
his text ; so I looked it out, and read it, 6 Go on,' 
he said. I read the chapter ; and then he said, 
% Wilt 'a read another V So I did ; and I thought 
he would never be satisfied ; however, I shut the 
book ; but he said nothing to me, and went to 
bed, I wondered whether he would let me say 
my prayers, for that was a thing he never could 
abide ; so I used to go on the outside of the door 
before I went to bed, and then, if he did not sus- 
pect what I was at, I might drop on my knees a 
few minutes. Well, he took no notice ; andj af- 
ter A got to bed, I heard him crying. He sobbed 
till the bed shook ; so at last I said, 6 William, 
you are ill,? He bid me go and fetch Mrs. Bai- 
ley and Mr. Cuthbert. He had had two fits, 
and I thought he was in one now ; so I told him 
I was afraid he would die while I was gone, and 
I must not leave him. He said, 6 Go V and I 
durst not say him nay ; but, as I went over the 
threshold, I knelt down, and said, ( Lord ! if my 
husband dies now, he will go to hell ; spare him 
12 



130 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



this once. 5 Then I got up, and ran and fetched 
Mrs. Bailey and Mr. Cuthbert. They were the 
people that he had most insulted ; and he wanted to 
beg their pardon, and tell them what way he was 
in. He said, 6 he knew he was going to hell, and 
he^had seen it in a dream? He thought he was 
cutting corn with a man, whose name I forget ; 
a storm came on, and they ran to a hovel for 
shelter ; and then it began to rain fire ; and ev- 
ery thing was in a blaze like Sodom and Gomor- 
rah ; and the flames were coming to him ; and 
he awoke in a dreadful fright ; and ever since, 
he had thought what it must be to live in ever- 
lasting fire. He wanted to know if there could be 
any escape for such a sinner as he was. They 
explained the Gospel to him ; and told him he 
must leave off his sins, especially getting drunk. 
It was hard work at first, but he did leave it off, 
He never goes near a public house.' 5 

I questioned her much on this point, but she 
was positive in her assertion. " He is not a tee- 
totaller," she said ; " he will drink a cup of beer 
if it is offered to him ; but he never gets drunk ; 
and he always says that any drunkard may leave 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



131 



off drink, if he only sets about it in the right way 
—if he is only afraid of hell-fire. 55 " You mean 
to say then, that your husband has never been 
drunk since this time that you speak of ?" " I 
do," she said ; " and, what is more, there is not 
a kinder, better husband in all the world than he 
is to me. He knows nothing about my putting 
into the club, because I want to surprise him. 
Last night, when I warmed his bed, I showed 
him how the sheets were worn out, and asked 
him ' how I was to get any more V 6 Oh,' he 
said, 6 we always have every thing provided as 
we want it, and so I dare say there will be some 
means or other. 5 6 Well, have you got any mo- 
ney laid by 1 5 ( No; but I am not going to 
make a trouble of it. I shall think no more about 
the sheets now. 5 I knew what I meant to do ; 
for I have bespoke a pair of them warm sheets 
that they sell for poor folks ; and when I take 
^em home my old man will be fine and pleased. 
They will only cost me Bs. 3d. I have a many 
more things to buy, that will make him as happy 
as a king when I get home. He is eighteen years 
older than I am ; and, if it please the Lord to 



132 



MARTHA STOCKDALE. 



take him first, I think I shall setoff to America.'* 
" What do you think of doing there ? 55 " I want 
to see my son. 35 " I thought you said you had no 
children V 3 " I had none by William. 55 " Oh, 
then you have been twice married. 55 "No, but 
I was a bad lass, and this is a chanceling. I nev~ 
er forsook my child though. He went with his 
master to New-York, got into business, and keeps 
a large inn there, and has coaches to let out for 
hire. Mr. George Walter saw him, and he said 
he had written six letters to his mother, and had 
received no answer, and he supposed she was 
dead. I got all the letters, but he never got my 
answers. Mr. Walter did not know that I was 
alive, when he saw him in New- York. My son 
is married, bnt he has no family. 55 " It is a long 
way for you to go at your age. 55 "Yes ; but I 
am like Jacob ; I am ready to say, i my son & 
alive ; I will go and see him before I die a 5 * 



THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 

Two little boys came to the library to-night 
for books. One had a pretty, laughing, roguish 
face ; the other a grave and somewhat sad coun- 
tenance. I knew this one. He belonged to our 
Sunday school. I asked him who the other was. 
'•'Walter Shirley." "Can he read?" "Not 
great books, but some little ones." " Weil, have 
you read this ?" " No, I did'nt want." " Why ?" 
" It haint got any pictures, and there's long 
words." " Can any one in your house read it V 
"Bob can." "Well, then, take it to Bob." 
" This is not a library book." " No ; it is what 
the man gave me, as he came round that way." 
" Oh ! you mean the good gentleman who was 
here last Monday ?" " Yes." " Do you go to 
school, Walter ?" " Yes." " Can you read the 
Testament ?" " I can, almost." " Do you know 
12* 



134 



THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 



what it is about ?" " No. 5 ' " And don't you, 
Joseph ?" " No." " Why, you read it on Sun- 
day, don't you know whose history it is ? What 
is it about ?" " It's all about God." " Yes, it 
is the history of the Son of God. Do you remem- 
ber what his name is ?" A long pause. " Well, 
you must listen while I tell you. His name is 
Jesus Christ ; and He is the Son of God. The 
Testament is about Him." " I said it was about 
God." " Yes ; but I am afraid you cannot tell 
me what the Son of God came here to do." 
" Walter, what do you say ?" " Nobody ever 
told me." " Then listen to me. He came here 
to die for us ; that we might go to heaven. He 
was nailed to the cross. His precious hands had 
nails put through them ; and they were stretched 
out like this." " Oh, mother's got a picture of 
it ; and I know she felled me that He was put 
there that little boys, such as me and Walter, 
might go to heaven, if we don't swear and tell 
lies." " Well now, Walter, do you think you 
can tell your mother this when you get home ? 
She told me the other day that she could not read ; 
so you must make haste and learn, and then you 



THE VILLAGE LIBRARY. 



135 



can read to her in the Testament, and you can 
tell her about it. You know she has been very 
ill. We thought she would have died. Only 
think what a sad thing it would have been to die 
without knowing about Jesus Christ ! Will you 
tell her when you get home ?" . "I think she 
knows." " Why do you think so 1 She did not 
tell me she knew about Him, when I went to see 
her the other day." " Aye, but I heard her tell 
Bob about it. ?? 

Note. — The editor laments that this is the only con- 
versation which he could find among the papers intrusted 
to his care by the writer. This specimen, however, will 
show her kind manner of talking to children. The good 
she did by such conversations is incalculable. They 
were made the means of humanizing some of the most 
turbulent children in the parish ; who were sent to her 
when nothing else could be done with them. 



THE VILLAGE HEROINE. 



I know of no higher proof of courage than was 
shown last week by a poor woman in this parish. 
To those who do not know the parties, it will be 
difficult to give an idea of the bravery she exhi- 
bited. A father and son were fighting ! — it seems 
too horrible to write — I would rather say two men 
were fighting ; one an old, but still powerful man ; 
the other a ruffian fellow of thirty, who set all 
the parish at defiance ; his passions as violent as 
his body was strong and giant-like. The woman 
had been hired to wash, and she had just finished 
a hard day's work in another room, when this 
battle began. The old man had the worst of it ; 
his wife had prayed for mercy for him, and she 
had been kicked out of the room ; not a man in 
the farm-yard dared to interfere ; a few women, 
lookers-on, went into fits, hysterics, &e. In this 



THE VILLAGE HEROINE. 



137 



state of things, Betty Burton thrust herself be- 
tween the ruffian and his victim, and laid hold of 
his arm, and hung with all her might upon itc 
He swore, of course, and threw her on one side, 
telling her to be gone, or he would break every 
bone in her skin. " Do, if you dare, John Page,'* 
she said ; and, while his furious eyes were glar- 
ing in astonishment upon her, she again placed 
herself upon the old man, and holding up her 
double-fist at the other, she said, " I dare you to 
touch me." 

For the first time in his life, the villain had met 
with a master spirit, and he quailed under it. 
The old man had sunk on the floor ; the ribs on 
one side had been broken ; but, while the contest 
was carried on, he succeeded in crawling away 
to the stable. The fellow, whose first object had 
been to turn the old man out of the house, now 
threatened vengeance to any who went near. My 
heroine paid no attention to his threats, but, tak- 
ing a light in her hand, she went to the stable, 
raised the old man's head on her lap, and spoke 
words of kindness to him ; she succeeded, in the 
end, in getting him to a neighbor's house* The 



138 



THE VILLAGE HEROINE. 



good man of that house would have interfered, 
but he was afraid of being murdered ! ! But for 
the interference of this brave woman, the old man 
must have been murdered • the son acknowledges 
this, for his passions are not to be controlled by 
any one — but Betty Burton. 

I have since heard the story from Betty Bur- 
ton's own mouth. She placed herself between 
the ruffian and his victim. "But," she said, 
" such arms as these were no match for him, but 
I managed to get a tight gripe of his collar, and 
I hung there whilst the old gentleman crawled 
away to the stable. Then John said he'd take 
care he did not come in any more, and he forbid 
anybody going to him ; but I was not going to 
be ordered by him : so I put a candle into the 
lanthorn, and called my boy Bill, and went to get 
him up. He said, ' I will lie here and die, Bet- 
ty but I got his head in my lap, and Bill cried 
over him, and said, 6 Don't leave him a sixpence, 
Mr. Page.' I mean to patronize Bill forthwith. 3 

This woman was once beautiful. As a proof 

of this, H took her picture at three different 

times, and she was in the exhibition twice. It is 



THE VILLAGE HEROINE. 



139 



hard to believe this now. Her curling brown 
hair is as white as snow, and, except a fine, erect 
person, there is scarcely a trace of beauty left, 
She married at fifteen, and she has suffered from 
a large family, poverty, sickness, and sorrow ; 
they are still pressing hard upon her, and they 
have nearly done their work. 

Note. — This story has already appeared in print, in a 
recent publication by Burns, entitled " Tales of Female 
Heroism ."—Editor. 



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*%* As the quantities on hand are limited, early orders are respectfully 
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13 



A GREAT INVENTION ! 



THE ECONOMIC 

(B M E i 0 - 1 (B K 1 1 9 

BEING A 

CHESS-BOARD PROVIDED WITH A COMPLETE 

SET OF CHESS-MEN. 

ADAPTED FOR PLAYING GAMES IX STEAMBOATS, 
RAILWAYS, CARRIAGES, STAGES, &c, &c. 

FOR FOLDING UP AND CARRYING IN THE POCKET, WITH- 
OUT DISTURBING THE GAME. 



INVENTED BY 

P. M. ROGET, M. D. 

PRICE 50 CENTS, IN A NEAT CASE. 

Manufactured and for sale by 
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 



D. Appleton § Co. will soonpublish 

CHESS FOR WINTER EVENINGS; 

OR 

USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING LESSONS 

ON 

THE GAME OF CHESS, 

COMPRISING 

I. THE ELEMENTS OF THE GAME, and an Elemental y 
Analysis of the Principal Openings. 

II. THE OPENINGS METHODICALLY ILLUSTRATED by 
a Series of Games actually played over the board by the most skilful 
players of the past and present time, viz. — Philedor, De La Bonrdon- 
nais, Lewis, McDonnel, Cochrane, Staunton, St. Amant, George 
Walker, &c. &c. 

HI. A SELECTION OF ONE HUNDRED CHESS PRO- 
BLEMS, or Ends of Games, won or drawn by brilliant and scientific 
Moves. 

IV. A SERIES OF CHESS-TALES, introducing Positions and 
Games. 

The whole compiled from the best English sources, with translations 
from the French. 

BY H. R. AGNAL, 

Professor of the French Language in the Military Academy, West 
Point. 

WITH NEW AND ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS, 

BY ROBERT W. WEIR, N. A., 

Professor of Drawing in the Military Academy, West Point, 



One handsome 12mo a volume of about 350 pages. 



AIPIPILM ©SPi 
TALES FOR THE PEOPLE, 

AND THEIR CHILDREN. 

The greatest care has been taken in selecting the works of whlca 

the collection is composed, so that nothing either mediocre U 

talent, or immoral in tendency, is admitted. 
The following are comprised in the series, uniform in size and style i 
MY UNCLE THE CLOCKMAKER. By Mary Howitt. 37 1-2 cts. 
THE SETTLERS IN CANADA ; written for Young People. Bf 

Capt. Marryat. 2 vols., 75 cents. 
DOMESTIC TALES AND ALLEGORIES. By Hannah More. 

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THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Cameron. 37 1-2 cents. 
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37 1-2 cents. 

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HOPE ON, HOPE EVER ; or, the Boyhood of Felix Law. By 
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ALICE FRANKLIN. By Mary Howitt. "~ 1-2 cents. 

NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE. By Maiy Howitt. 37 1-2 cts. 

THE DANGERS OF DINING OUT : To which is added the Con- 

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IfOUNG STUDENT. By Madame Guizot. 3 vols. $1 12. 
OVE AND MONEY. By Mary Howitt. 37 1-2 centt. 

%* Other works of equal interest will be added to tne series, 



